PW 


BOSTONIANA  COLLECTION 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/fallenprieststorOOmorg  - 


KEY  TO  DIE  ON  THE  COVER, 


Designed  by  J.  J,  Berry  & Co. 


The  right  of  the  capital 
Key  rests  upon  a decanter 
marked  RUM.  The  left  rests 
upon  the  Pope’s  hat, 

or  that  of  ■ his  Cardi- 

nars.  0th  er  keys  are 

numerous  opening  to 

the  upper  or  the  low- 

er world.  The  Vatican  is  repre- 
sented leaning  towards  the 
rum  bottle.  It  is  under- 
mined by  the 
dynamite  of 
L.  L.  L.,  Li- 
quor, Lotter- 
ies and  Li- 
centious- 
ness.  Whe- 
ther it  shall 
be  righted  in 
America  by 
the  present 
upheaval  re- 
mains to  be 
seen.  Cath- 
o 1 ics  are 
said  to  be  as 
earnest  for 
Mr.  Mor- 
gan’s suc- 
cess in  awa- 
kening the 
RomanCath-  * 

olic  Church 
to  its  duty  as 
Protestants ; 
and  n o n • 
c h u r c h - 
goers  more 
earnest  than 
all,  as  they 
pay  most  of  the  criminal 
and  pauper  taxes.  The 
burden  at  last  will  rest 
with  the  non-church 
goers  whether 
the  church  shall 
go  on  in  its  present 
suicidal  course,  or  at 
once  and  forever  lift 
the  banner  of  reform. 


Agents  address  Rev.  Henry  Morgan,  81  Shawmut  Avenue, 
Boston,  Mass. 


PEEFACE  TO  . SECOND  EDITION. 


I NOW  present  to  the  world  the  final  work  of  my  life. 
My  Music  Hall  lectures  won  for  me  a fortune.  My  “ Ned 
Nevins^  the  News-Boy placed  me  among  philanthropists, 
and  won  me  the  friendship  of  the  Irish.  My  “ Shadowy 
Hand  ” was  but  a mother’s  hand  that  led  me  through 
“ L?!/e’s  Struggles.’’’’  My  ’■’‘Boston  Inside  Out’’’’  provoked 
three  lawsuits,  with  two  attachments  upon  my  church  and 
dwellings,  — one  for  $10,000  and  one  for  $25,000.  My 
“ Fallen  Priest,  or  Key  to  Boston  Inside  Out,’’’’  may  elicit 
more  extended  suits.  The  first  suit  was  by  the  quack 
doctors,  whom  I had  assailed.  They  withdrew  the  suit, 
finding  that  “Morgan  didn’t  scare  worth  a cent.”  The 
second  suit  was  by  the  gamblers,  who,  after  trial,  signed 
off  for  their  “heirs  and  assigns  forever,”  for  the  extra- 
ordinary sum  of  one  cent,  they  paying  the  cost  of  court. 
The  suit  now  pending  is  by  sore-headed  Catholics.  IS'ot 
leading  Catholics,  they  are  not  such  fools,  though  some 
of  them  back  the  suit  with  their  money.  A full  million 
could  be  easily  raised  in  the  country  if  it  would  but 
“ crush  out  Morgan  and  his  church  reform.’’^  Alas!  poor 
persecuted  Morgan  is  not  easily  crushed.  He  is  made  of 
sterner  stuff.  Better  save  your  money,  gentlemen,  to 
reform  abuses,  check  the  criminal  classes,  put  a bit  upon 
the  licentiousness  of  your  priests,  feed  and  elevate  your 
devoted  yet  degraded  paupers!  One  of  my  chief  wit- 
nesses has  been  spirited  away  to  Europe,  with  the  de- 
claration that  “he  will  not  return  until  after  the  trial.” 
But  I have  caught  him,  had  him  before  the  magistrate, 
and  kept  him  upon  the  rack  swearing  for  three  days!  So 
much  for  the  “ Key.”  Breakers  ahead!  There  is  music  in 
the  air!  There  are  sounds  whose  bass  and  tenor  thunder 
in  unmistakable  notes  to  the  church,  “ Refoum,”  “ Re- 
form! ” 

Agents  address  Rev.  Henry  Morgan,  81  Shawmut  Ave- 
nue, Boston,  Mass. 


THE 


PRIEST. 


FALLEN 

STORY  FOXJNOED  ON  EACT. 

KEY  AND  SEQUEL 

TO 

‘^BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT/’ 


^ooks  in  ©n«  Volume. 

Book  I.  — THE  STORY.  FORTY  CHAPTERS. 
Book  II.  — CATHOLIC  CHURCH  IN  POLITICS  : 
FOR  SALE  OR  TO  LET. 

Book  III.  — KEY  AND  APPENDIX. 


BY 

Rev.  henry  AIORGAN, 

Author  of  “ Ned  Nevins,  the  Newsboy,”  “ Shadowy  Hand;  or,  Lipb 
Struggles,”  “Music  Hall  Discourses,”  and 
“ Boston  Inside  Out.” 


THIRD  EDITION.  ELEVEN  EXTRA  CHAPTERS. 
Copyright,  A.  D.  1883. 

SHAWMUT  PUBLISHINO  COMPANY, 

81  Shawmut  Avenue,  Boston. 

r 


DEDICATED 


To  my  Catholic  friends  throughout  the  Nation.  To 
you  I owe  a debt  of  gratitude.  Accept  my  thanks ; 
give  me  your  prayers.  You  have  watched  my  move- 
ments, said  “ God  bless  you,’'  and  given  me  aid  and 
cheer.  To  you  the  Church  is  the  choicest  object  of 
earth.  You  tremble  for  its  future.  Dark ! dark  be 
the  day  when  skepticism  reigns  ! That  day  will  surely 
come  if  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  in  its  present 
teachings  and  practices,  is  to  be  the  exponent  of 
Christianity. 

You  agonize  for  its  fate,  for  the  home  circle,  for 
your  families,  your  children,  and  your  children’s  chil- 
dren. You  see  the  priesthood  standing  on  the  brink, 
boasting  of  the  impregnable  rock  and  keys,  bidding 
defiance  to  the  noblest  public  opinion,  to  law  and  order, 
fostering  pauperism,  beggary,  idleness,  intemperance, 
licentiousness,  pugilism,  and  crime ; inviting  from  an 
outraged,  indignant,  skeptical,  tax-burdened  populace, 
the  already  forged  French  thunderbolts  for  their  own 
destruction. 

You  are  Americanized.  You  believe  in  free  thought, 
free  schools,  and  free  press.  You  can  recognize  other 
sects  and  other  creeds,  especially  when  they  carry  ten- 
fold more  weight  of  intelligence,  refinement,  moral 
honesty,  loyalty  to  government,  and  religious  culture 
than  all  the  pretentious  mockery  of  the  arrogant,  tyran- 
ical  so-called  “ Holy  Mother  Church.” 


Copyright,  A.  D.  1882,  by  Hbnby  Mobsah. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


Shall  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  rule 
America?”  will  be  the  American  watch-cry  for 
the  next  ten  years.  It  has  already  captured 
the  large  cities ! The  conflict  must  come : 
reform  is  in  the  air.  The  truths  of  my  books, 
" Boston  Inside  Out,”  and  this  its  " Key  and 
Sequel,”  will  be  best  appreciated  when  I am  in 
my  grave.  Then  the  church  will  be  cleansed,  — 
eliminated  of  its  assumptions,  its  arrogance,  its 
indulgences,  its  image- worship,  its  miracle  frauds, 
its  lotteries,  its  intrigues  in  politics,  its  Sunday 
liquor  selling,  — and  its  priesthood  will  be  purified 
from  intemperance  and  incontinence.  Nothing  else 
will  satisfy  the  three-quarter  population, — the  non- 
church-goers,  the  principal  tax-payers,  — burdened 
as  they  are  with  the  church’s  beggary,  pauperism, 
frauds,  and  crime. 

What  will  the  public  think  if  I shall  prove  in 
this  book  that  the  priesthood  is  cruelly  and 
criminally  corrupt ; that  " Father  Titus,”  the  hero 
of  my  book  ” Boston  Inside  Out,”  is  not  a myth, 
but  an  actual  fact,  and  a representative  character  of 
a score  of  other  ecclesiastics  which  I shall  describe 
living,  teaching,  and  preaching  in  and  around 
Boston,  breathing  moral  contagion  and  death; 


IV 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


that  politics,  and  not  piety,  is  their  forte  and 
calling ; that  to  them  more  than  any  other  cnuse 
Boston’s  downfall  is  due ; that  war  to  the  knife  is 
declared  on  free  schools;  that  the  Boston  Latin 
and  High  School,  costing  three  quarters  of  a 
million,  is  now  nearly  empty ; that  the  twenty- 
eight  parish  schools  of  this  diocese,  with  their 
military  drills,  are  already  breathing  threatenings 
and  slaughter,  saying,  "Let  the  Yankees  beware”  ; 
that  Catholic  supremacy  means  supreme  corruption  ; 
that  Catholics  are  easily  bribed ; that  rich  corpora- 
tions choose  them  for  tools  by  which  to  cheat  the 
public  ; that  jobs  and  junketing  are  the  rule  ; that 
votes  " for  sale  or  to  let  ” might  be  pasted  in  their 
hats  daily ; that  men  who  cannot  pay  one  dollar 
poll-tax  for  all  the  privileges  of  citizenship  can 
pay  twenty-five,  fifty,  and  even  one  hundred 
dollars  every  year  without  compunction  for  liquor  ; 
that  beggary  is  at  a premium,  idleness  a virtue ; 
that  a man  may  be  elected  to  the  city  council  who 
has  to  borrow  a coat  to  be  inaugurated  in  ; that  he 
is  placed  on  the  committee  of  the  treasury,  to 
guard  Boston’s  $700,000,000,  — one  who  scarcely 
knows  a day-book  from  a ledger ; knows  nothing 
of  double  entiy  except  at  the  Parker  House ; 
patronizes,  with  other  councilmen  and  cronies, 
fourteen  cigar  stores,  eight  hotels,  besides  carriages 
and  car  travel,  at  an  expense  of  $34,000  a year, 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION’. 


V 


besides  public  celebrations  and  receptions  ; that  city 
contracts  can  bo  changed  and  money  squandered 
by  the  million  with  such  votes  and  such  voters ; 
that  committees  can  change  contracts  without  the 
knowledge  or  consent  of  the  council ; that  nearly 
$200,000  extra  were  given  to  the  Moon  Island  job  ; 
that  the  enormous  sum  of  $36,000  was  given  for  a 
pile  of  rocks  that  cost  but  $4,000 ; that  $50,000 
extra  more  or  less  were  given  for  the  sewer  tunnel ; 
that  by  the  statement  of  one  alderman  against 
another,  $80,000  more  were  given  for  engines 
than  for  those  bargained  Ibr  by  Mr.  Corliss,  his 
being  warranted,  both  as  to  capacity  and  duration 
(the  favored  ones  not  being  warranted  at  all)  ; 
that  money  being  scarce,  certain  officials  got  up  a 
scare  at  South  Boston, — circulating  petitions  to 
Legislature  preventing  pumping  in  the  harbor,  — 
compelling  city  council  to  vote  in  haste  to  com- 
plete the  sewer,  thereby  obtaining  $1,500,000 
more ; that  the  engines  are  now  idle,  and  will  be 
for  a year  or  two,  salted  and  rusting ; that  the 
chief  men  in  the  obnoxious  rings  are  anxious  for 
re-election ; that  some  of  them  were  connected 
with  the  $60,000  electric-light  swindle,  some  with 
the  Meigs  elevated  railroad  scheme,  some  with 
the  two-million  Charlestown  elevated  bridge  grab, 
some  with  the  change  of  plans  and  contracts  on 
the  BacK  Bay,  costing  half  a million  ; that  many  of 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


vi  . 


these  jobs  emanate  from  one  and  the  same  source 
in  Pemberton  Square ; that  a few  thousands  for 
poll-taxes  can  easily  be  paid  when  a few  millions 
are  lying  loose  around  ; that  men  without  manhood 
enough  to  own  their  own  heads,  pay  for  their  own 
clothes,  can  follow  the  political  bell-wether  like 
sheep  over  a fence,  can  sell  or  be  sold  for  a dollar  ; 
not  possessing  an  honest  dime  ; not  doing  an  honest 
day’s  work  for  weeks  or  months  ; making  politics 
a trade ; getting  appointed  to  the  Legislature  as 
retrenchers  and  reformers;  voting  for  every  job, 
every  ring,  every  clique,  every  extravagance, 
except  such  bills  as  will  enforce  the  laws ; that 
such  men  should  not  rule  unchallenged  the  grand 
old  city  of  Boston,  — the  city  of  the  highest  cul- 
ture, greatest  wealth  according  to  its  population, 
and  noblest  deeds  of  renown  of  any  city  on  the 
continent  ? 

If  I shall  establish  these  facts  and  reform  shall 
be  the  fruit ; if  American  Catholics  shall  stand  by 
me  and  cheer  me  on  in  the  future  as  they  have  done 
in  the  past,  — men  born  on  free  soil,  educated  in 
free  schools,  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  church 
asking  for  change,  demanding  reform  until  perma- 
nent radical  reform  shall  come  and  the  church  be 
redeemed,  — then  may  I sa}^,  like  Simeon  of  old, 
"Now,  Lord,  lettest  Thou  Thy  servant  depart  in 
peace,  for  mine  eyes  have  seen  Thy  salvation.” 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I. 

THE  FALLEN  PRIEST. 

PAGE 

L I.  — Father  Keenan  on  the  Watch  ....  1 

II.  — Curse  of  Celibacy 13 

III.  — Sensation  in  a Church 25 

IV.  — Plotting  against  a Priest 33 

V.  — Beauty  and  the  Beast 43 

VI.  — How  Nora  played  her  Part 52 

VII.  — The  Trap  is  sprung 59 

VIII.  — The  Bishop’s  Sentence 69 

IX.  — Beggars  and  Bummers 77 

X — Drinking  Scene  at  Mag  O’Leary’s  ...  88 

XI.  — Death  of  Mike  Haley 98 

XII.  — A Three  Nights’  “ Wake  ” 109 

XIII.  — Miracle  Wonders 121 

XIV.  — Mary  Mulligan’s  Crime 135 

XV.  — Mary  is  arrested 151 

XVI.  — A Mother’s  Grief  and  a Father’s  Anger  . 164 

XVII.  — Fearful  Night  in  the  “ Tombs  ” . . . . 170 

XVIII.  — Prison  or  Altar,  which  ? 178 

XIX.  — On  the  Koad  to  Ruin 185 

XX.  — What  happened  at  the  Dance  . . . .193 

XXI.  — Father  Keenan  and  the  Rosary  ....  207 

XXII.  — A Gladiatorial  Combat 217 

XXIII.  — Father  Keenan’s  Confession 227 

XXIV. — Vision  of  Future  Greatness 240 

XXV.  — Father  Leonard’s  Temptation  ....  249 

XXVI.  — Kate  Ransom’s  Agony 261 

XXVII.  — “I  ’ll  find  her,  dead  or  alive  ! ” . , . .275 

XXVIII.  — Life  at  the  “ Bleeding  Heart  ” . . . . 289 

XXIX.  — Abandoned  to  her  Fate 300 


IV 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Chapter  XXX. — Commotion  in  the  Convent  . . . .310 

XXXI.  — A Stolen  Interview 328 

XXXII.  — Gentleman  Mike  to  the  Rescue  . .341 
XXXIII.  — House  of  the  Magdalenes  ....  351 
XXXIV.  — The  Belle  of  Beacon  Hill  ....  362 

XXXV.  — The  Dying  Nun  . . .' 375 

XXXVI.  — Father  Keenan’s  Defence  and  Denun- 
ciation   382 

XXXVII.  — A Midnight  Mission 394 

XXXVIII.  — A Martyr  to  Truth 409 

XXXIX.  — Father  Leonard  and  Kate  Ransom  . 419 
XL.  — The  Last  of  Earth 429 


BOOK  II. 

CATHOLIC  CHURCH  IN  POLITICS  : FOR  SALE  OR  TO  LET. 

PAGE 

Chapter  I.  — Why  I wrote  the  Book 9 

II.  — Church  Lotteries 18 

III.  — Burning  of  the  Ursuline  Convent ....  25 

IV.  — Who  runs  the  City  of  Boston  1 ....  39 

V.  — How  to  carry  a Catholic  Caucus  ....  47 

VI.  — Who  control  the  Daily  Press  ? ....  53 

VII.  — Who  furnish  the  Criminals  and  Paupers  1 60 

VIII.  — Effect  of  Catholic  Rule - . 67 


BOOK  III. 

KEY  AND  APPENDIX  TO  “BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT.” 


BOOK  I. 

STORY  OF  THE  FALLEN  PRIEST; 

Or,  Fruits  of  Catholic  Teachings. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FATHER  KEENAN  ON  THE  WATCH. THE  DOVE  AND  THl 

HAWK. MARY  MULLIGAN  RESCUED  BY  THE  PRIEST. 

No  part  of  Boston  has  undergone  greater  vicis- 
situdes, or  passed  through  so  many  varying  and 
diverse  phases,  socially,  morally,  and  architectur- 
ally, as  that  precinct  which  has  been  known  since 
the  town’s  earliest  infancy  as  the  North  End. 

Formerly  the  aristocratic  quarter,  the  abode  of 
famous  magistrates,  statesmen,  merchant  princes, 
and  other  high  and  mighty  ones  whose  names 
Bostonians  delight  to  honor,  it  became  successive- 
ly deserted  tirst  by  the  elite^  then  by  the  moder- 
ately well-off  and  quasi-fasiiionables,  finally  by 
most  of  these  who  laid  claim  to  the  slightest  de- 
gree of  respectability,  until  the  district  at  last 
virtually  fell  into  the  hands  of  a class  of  denizens 


2 


FATHER  KEENAN  ON  THE  WArCH. 


which  can  only  be  fittingly  characterized  as  the 
rifiT-raff,  dregs,  and  refuse  of  humanity. 

The  quaint  wooden  and  brick  houses,  once 
grand  and  imposing  in  their  way,  are  now  dilapi- 
dated, dismal,  and  forlorn  looking  enough,  wear- 
ing the  unmistakable  marks  of  a dissolute  old 
age  in  their  crumbling  walls,  sunken  doorsteps, 
broken  windows,  and  in  the  general  air  of  squa- 
lor and  unthrift  which  is  everywhere  painfully 
apparent  to  the  passer-by. 

But  the  march  of  improvement  has  already  ex- 
tended to  this  quarter.  The  bustling  genius  of 
trade  and  traffic  is  steadily  encroaching  upon  this 
realm  of  vice  and  crime ; hedging  in  with  mas- 
sive stores  and  warehouses  of  brick  and  granite 
what  is  yet,  however,  an  evil  and  plague-haunted 
region;  a region  of  sailors’  boarding-houses,  in- 
numerable grog-shops,  and  the  lowest  haunts  and 
resorts  of  a vicious  foreign  population,  where 
crime  holds  nightly  saturnalia,  lays  its  schemes 
of  robbery,  arson,  even  murder ; defying,  seem- 
ingly with  impunity,  the  interference  of  the  police. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  a summer’s  day,  a few 
years  ago,  a man  was  standing  meditatively  at 
the  corner  of  one  of  those  narrow  lanes  or  by- 
ways which  lead  from  Hanover  Street  into  the 
most  densely  peopled  portion  of  the  North  End. 

The  bustle  and  turmoil  of  the  day  was  at  its 


MARY  MULLIGAN  RESCUED  BY  THE  PRIEST.  3 


height.  Teams,  hacks,  horse-cars,  and  omnibuses 
seemed  mixed  in  a chaotic  but  ever-moving  mass, 
flying  hither  and  thither  with  indescribable  din 
and  racket  to  their  various  destinations,  while  the 
sidewalks  were  crowded  by  a living  stream  of  peo- 
ple of  either  sex  iiurrying  home  or  elsewhere  for 
rest  and  recreation,  now  that  for  most  of  them  the 
day’s  labor  was  over. 

To  Jerome  Keenan,  the  man  who  is  lounging 
with  folded  arms  against  a buildino:  which  forms 
one  corner  of  the  street,  and  who,  with  thoughtful 
and  somewhat  melancholy  gaze,  is  watching  the 
moving  throng,  the  scene  possessed  a peculiar 
interest. 

It  may  be  said  that  he  haunted  this  particular 
spot,  at  least  during  certain  portions  of  the  day, 
when  the  crowd  was  thickest,  as  now,  and  when 
he  was  not,  as  was  too  frequently  the  case, 
ensconced  in  some  corner  of  a drinking-saloon  or 
in  his  own  miserable  garret  room,  sleeping  off  the 
eflects  of  a drunken  debauch. 

To  the  regular  passers-by.  Father  Keenan,  the 
"silenced”  priest,  as  he  was  known  to  his  acquaint- 
ances, had  become  a flimilia.r  figure  there.  Some- 
thing there  was  so  marked  in  his  massive  form,  so 
impressive  in  his  bearing,  an  air  of  so  much  dig- 
nity and  mental  superiority  about  the  broad  fore- 
head and  full,  flashing  gray  eye,  that  even  though 


4 


FATHER  KEENAN  ON  THE  WATCH. 


his  countenance  was  seared  and  lined  by  the  signs 
of  lial)itual  dissipation,  it  was  impossible  to  pass 
him  by  with  a casual  glance. 

And  thus  many  had  come  to  know  this  strange 
man,  perceiving  him  so  often  at  his  favorite  post 
of  observation,  and  exchamjed  "reetino^s  with 
him,  and  passed  on  their  way  delighted  and 
charmed  by  the  winning  grace  and  polished 
courtesy  with  which  he  met  their  salutations. 

A man  evidently  trained  and  bred  in  a far  dif- 
ferent sphere  from  that  of  his  present  life  among 
the  outcast  haunts  at  the  North  liind  was  Father 
Keenan.  But  whatever  his  past  history,  whatever 
causes  had  brought  him  to  so  low  a level,  were 
locked  within  his  own  bosom.  That  he  had  once 
been  a Roman  Catholic  clergyman,  removed  from 
the  priesthood,  — " silenced  ” for  some  cause, 
which  perhaps  his  dissolute  habits  may  have  suf- 
ficiently explained,  — was  all  that  was  positively 
known  of  his  former  life. 

Concerning  that  past  life,  even  when  in  his 
cups,  he  observed  the  most  rigid  reticence ; and 
few  among  the  hardened  wretches  among  whom, 
either  from  some  strange  choice  or  necessity,  he 
had  dwelt  for  years,  had  the  temerity  to  hint  at 
or  question  him  upon  the  tabooed  subject.  For 
he  possessed  certain  traits  and  physical  qualities 
which  ever  command  the  respect  and  fear  of  the 


MARY  MULLIGAN  RESCUED  BY  THE  PRIEST.  5 


vulgar.  A man  of  heroic  mould,  of  commensurate 
strength,  and  of  invincible  courage,  slow  to  anger, 
but  when  once  wrought  up  to  resent  an  insult  or 
indignity,  offered  to  himself  o r to  another  whose 
helplessness  appealed  to  his  ready  sympathies, 
quick  and  sure  in  his  vengeance, — such  was  Father 
Keenan. 

And  by  other  and  worthier  deeds  of  kindness 
and  charity  — by  soothing  distress,  ministering 
to  the  sick  and  dying,  by  nameless  evidences  of  a 
sympathetic  heart  ever  alive  to  the  needs  of  others 
— the  "silenced”  priest  had  endeared  himself  to 
his  associates,  despite  his  known  vices ; which, 
however,  were  vices  too  common  to  their  class  to 
awaken  any  feeling  of  reproach  in  their  debased 
minds. 

An  anomaly  indeed  was  this  man,  surrounded 
by  a pestiferous  atmosphere  of  vice  and  crime, 
living  a life  of  sin  and  shame,  yet  preserving  so 
much  of  the  nobler  attributes  of  his  lost  manhood  ; 
a man  fallen  indeed,  but  not,  let  us  hope,  utterly 
degraded  and  lost ! 

The  crowd  continued  to  surge  along  the  street 
like  the  waves  of  a restless  sea,  and  the  silenced 
priest  maintained  his  attitude  of  indolent  observa- 
tion, as  if  he  were  reading  in  the  flitting  faces  the 
pages  of  a volume  which  he  had  conned  again 
and  again,  but  which  he  was  never  wearied  in 
perusing. 


6 


FATHER  KEENAN  ON  THE  VTATCH. 


At  times  he  would  start,  drop  liis  folded  arms 
to  his  side,  crane  his  head  forward,  and  peer  into 
the  crowd  with  an  eager,  strained,  intense  gaze, 
while  every  nerve  and  muscle  seemed  to  brace 
itself  as  if  for  a tiger-like  spring  into  the  midst  of 
the  throng. 

At  such  times  his  eye  had  encountered  a coun- 
tenance that  by  a passing  likeness  had  evoked 
a long-buried  memory,  which,  ghost-like,  was  for- 
ever risino^  from  its  "rave  to  confront  and  harass 
him. 

It  was  a memory  sweet  and  hallowed,  but  pain- 
ful withal,  the  memory  of  a face  that  had  been 
dear  to  him  in  the  budding  springtime  of  his  life ; 
a woman’s  face  whose  smiling  beauty  was  as  the 
sunshine  to  his  heart,  but  which  had  suddenly  de- 
parted out  of  his  life,  leaving  no  trace  or  clew  to 
indicate  whither  it  had  flown. 

For  years  he  had  sought  for  that  loved  counte- 
nance, haunting  theatres,  ball-rooms,  and  the 
resorts  of  pleasure  and  frivolity ; travelling  in 
foreign  lands  to  follow  some  misleading  clew  ; and 
still,  even  after  entering  upon  holy  orders,  peer- 
ing into  the  fices  of  vast  audiences  who  hung 
upon  his  eloquent  words ; and  often,  as  now  in 
the  crowded  street,  feeling  hope  suddenly  revive, 
only  to  sink  in  deeper  gloom,  as  some  fancied  re- 
semblance to  the  one  he  sought  was  as  suddenly 
dispelled. 


MARY  MULLIGAN  RESCUED  BY  THE  PRIEST.  7 


The  human  tide  at  length  became  thinned  to  a 
straggling  stream,  and  the  priest,  wearied  of  his 
task,  was  turning  to  go  to  his  lodging-place,  when 
two  persons  brushed  by  him  as  they  passed  into 
the  cross  street  down  which  his  own  way  led. 

One  was  a thick  set,  rakishly  dressed  man  of 
thirty  or  thirty- five,  who,  though  what  might  be 
called  tolerably  good-looking,  was  known  to  Father 
Keenan  as  one  of  the  worst  characters  in  the  North 
End.  His  name  was  Tim  Brady,  his  occu[)ation 
that  of  a bar-tender  and  " bouncer  ” for  a notorious 
house  of  infamy  hard  by. 

His  companion  was  a young  girl  not  more  than 
seventeen  years  old,  modestly  dressed,  and  evi- 
dently, to  the  priest’s  experienced  eyes,  a stranger 
to  city  ways  and  sights. 

As  her  companion  turned  into  the  narrow  street 
* the  girl  seemed  to  hesitate  and  shrink,  while  she 
gave  him  a timid,  askant  look,  as  if  she  felt  some 
disquieting  doubt  about  proceeding  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

Father  Keenan  now  first  fairly  perceived  the 
girl’s  face.  It  was  fresh  and  fair  as  a daisy  ; more 
than  this,  there  was  a sparkling  gayety  and  vi- 
vacity in  the  dark,  full  eye  that  when  in  the  full 
play  of  mirth  and  pleasure  must  have  lighted  up 
her  charming  features  into  positive  loveliness. 

But  even  in  that  momentary  glimpse  he  could 


8 


FATHER  KEENAN  ON  THE  WATCH. 


see  that  the  girl  was  vain,  coquettish,  and  sim- 
ple, and  that  she  was  just  the  sort  of  prey  to  fall 
only  too  readily  into  the  clutches  of  such  a wily 
hawk  as  Tim  Brady. 

As  he  made  these  observations  he  heard  Brady 
say,  — 

”Come  along,  my  pretty  one.  Don’t  yer  be  a bit 
afeared.  Boston  is  n’t  a country  village,  yer  know, 
with  green  fields  and  straight  roads  runnin’  be- 
tween ’em.  You ’ve  heard  of  Boston’s  crooked  and 
dirty  streets,  I guess.  Well,  this  is  one  of  ’em; 
but  it’s  the  shortest  cut  to  where  yer  want  ter  go* 
So  come  along  I ” 

**And  you  are  sure  this  is  the  way  to  Koxbury, 
where  my  sister  lives?”  the  girl  asked,  somewhat 
reassured. 

"Why,  there  ain’t  any  other  way,  you  bet,” 
answered  the  fellow,  taking  her  arm,  and  gently 
leading  her  a few  steps  down  the  street. 

These  words  convinced  Father  Keenan  of 
Brady’s  nefarious  purpose,  if  he  had  had  any  pre- 
vious doubts.  With  a bound  he  reached  the  lat- 
ter’s side. 

* I shall  have  to  spoil  your  game,  Brady,”  he 
said,  in  a tone  of  concentrated  earnestness.  " Let 
go  that  girl’s  arm  ! At  least  I will  prevent  jmu 
from  committing  one  evil  deed  ! ” 

The  fellow  turned  furiously,  and  raised  his 


MARY  MULLIGAN  RESCUED  BY  THE  PRIEST.  9 


clinched  fist ; but  when  he  saw  who  it  was  that 
dared  to  interfere  with  him,  the  intended  blow 
was  restrained  and  a look  of  baffled  hate  and  fear 
spread  over  his  evil  countenance. 

" I don’t  seek  any  quarrel  with  you,  Father 
Keenan,”  he  said,  doggedly.  ''  Lave  me  alone  an’ 
I’ll  lave  you  alone.  I know  my  own  business,  I 
guess,  an’  kin  take  care  of  it  myself.” 

"And  / know  your  business,  Tim  Brady;  and 
this  foolish  girl  shall  know  it,  too  I Come,  do  you 
not  see  she  is  already  frightened,  and  striving  to 
release  herself  from  your  grasp?  Unhand  her  at 
once,  or  — ” 

Brady  was  no  coward  ; his  very  business  brought 
him  into  constant  frays ; but  he  had  once  felt  the 
weight  of  Father  Keenan’s  arm,  and  he  had  no 
desire  to  encounter  him  again,  single-handed,  at 
least.  Therefore,  with  a savage  scowl,  he  dropped 
the  young  girl’s  wrist,  and  with  a muttered  threat 
turned  hastily  away. 

A few  kind  words  reassured  the  tremblino:  ^irl 
and  quieted  her  alarm.  In  answer  to  the  priest’s 
inquiries,  she  told  him  that  her  name  was  Mary 
]\Iulligan.  She  had  come  to  Boston  to  visit  a sister 
who  lived  in  Roxbury.  Her  own  home  was  in 
one  of  the  villasfes  on  the  Merrimac  River.  Ar- 

O 

riving  at  the  Maine  depot,  unacquainted  with  the 
city,  she  had  inquired  her  way  of  Brady,  who  was 


10 


FATHER  KEENAN  ON  THE  WATCH.. 


lounging  about  the  depots  had  fallen  into  conver- 
sation with  him,  and  suspecting  nothing  wrong 
from  such  a good-looking  gentleman  as  she  sup- 
posed him  to  be,  had  placed  herself  under  his 
guidance. 

Father  Keenan  was  interested  and  charmed  with 
the  girl’s  manner.  He  could  not  take  his  eyes 
from  her  sparkling  countenance.  Somehow  a 
tone,  a look,  or  a gesture  vividly  recalled  to 
his  mind  that  lost  one  whose  imasre  had  never 

O 

faded  from  his  heart  through  all  the  years  of 
change  and  vicissitude  which  had  passed  since  he 
had  last  beheld  it.  It  was  the  same  bright  beauty, 
the  same  artless  grace,  but,  alas  ! he  saw  in  this 
youthful  face  the  same  weaknesses,  the  same 
passion  for  pleasure  and  frivolities  which  had 
caused  the  wreck  and  loss  of  his  early  love. 

He  accompanied  the  young  girl  some  distance, 
and,  after  seeing  her  into  a less  dangerous  locality, 
gave  her  minute  instructions  as  to  her  further 
course,  bade  her  good-by,  and  thoughtfully  re- 
traced his  steps  toward  the  place  he  called  home. 

Little  did  the  priest  anticipate  that  his  life’s 
lines' would  ever  cross  those  of  Mary  Mulligan’s 
again.  But  they  were  destined  to  meet  many 
times  in  the  future,  to  meet  amid  scenes  of 
pleasure,  of  sorrow,  and  sin.  His  tragic  end  was 
even  more  humiliating  than  that  depicted  in  these 


MARY  MULLIGAN  RESCUED  BY  THE  PRIEST.  11 


pages.  For  the  sake  of  the  rising  generation,  to 
help  riform,  to  give  courage  to  reformers,  I ha'Ve 
made  him  more  bold,  courageous,  heroic,  and 
independent  than  he  or  any  Catholic  priest  could 
possibly  be  while  opposed  by  the  hierarchy  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church. 

If  the  Catholics  have  made  the  North  End  an 
aceldama  of  blood,  if  the  priests  set  the  example 
of  hard  drinking,  — some  of  their  liquor  bills  even 
out  of  the  State  being  simply  enormous,  bills  that 
have  accidentally  fallen  into  my  own  hands, — if  the 
priesthood  with  full  reign  brings  such  fruit,  what 
may  be  the  effect  of  Catholic  rule  all  over  the  city  ? 
Let  us  see.  The  head  of  police  is  the  Democrat 
who  got  thousands  drunk  at  the  city’s  expense 
during  the  Peace  Jubilee.  Number  second  is  a 
Catholic  editor,  whose  election  caused  every  Lady 
Superior  and  every  political  nun  to  clap  their 
hands,  strange  as  it  may  seem.  I may  show  in 
this  story,  if  space  is  allowed,  that  nuns,  — closely 
veiled,  bead-counting  nuns,  — are  the  most  con- 
summate of  all  politicians.  They  secretly  send  out 
the  big  boss  spiders  that  catch  the  silly  Protestant 
Republican  flies. 

Who  is  clerk  at  City  Hall  ? Who  runs  its  pol- 
itics ? An  editor  of  a Catholic  Democratic  paper, 
who  wrote  flaming  panegyrics  on  his  own  worthy 
self  and  won  the  high  position.  He  is  now 


12 


FATHER  KEENAN  ON  THE  WATCH. 


paid  thousands  of  dollars  yearly  from  the  city  tax- 
payers to  Catholicise  and  demoralize  public  opinion. 

Whom  did  he  supercede?  One  of  the  purest, 
most  temperate,  and  sagacious  of  men  that  ever 
held  an  ofEce  I In  office  thirty  years,  yet  not 
feathering  his  own  nest  sufficiently  to  lift  the 
mortgage  on  his  dwelling  I Merchants  lifted  it, 
after  he  had  been  ruthlessly  assailed  and  turned 
out  by  Catholic,  Democratic,  junket-grabbing, 
civil  service  reformers!  Hurrah  for  the  Demo- 
cratic Pendleton  bill  I 

Now  what  is  the  effect  ? Why,  it  is  Pandemonium 
let  loose  I Murders  and  robberies  in  broad  daylight 
all  over  the  city  ! As  to  the  social  evil,  Boston  has 
become  within  a few  years  the  Niagara  Rapids  of 
America  ! The  New  England  maelstrom  that  sucks 
in  the  spent  swimmers  of  every  nation. 

As  the  daring  Capt.  Webb  swam  across  the 
English  Channel,  dove  from  msisthead  into  the 
deep  sea,  made  his  bed  for  days,  nights,  and  even 
weeks  floating  on  the  wave,  dashed  through  eddies, 
whirlpools  and  cataracts,  but  at  last  met  his  fate, 
at  Niagara,  so  the  New  England  braves  swimming 
in  smaller  streams  of  vice  at  their  country  homes, 
meet  at  last  their  maelstrom  in  Boston. 

Oh  Boston  I Boston ! Has  it  come  to  this  ? 
Angels  weep  at  thy  fate  ! God  of  our  fathers  ! 
Hold  back  Thy  thunderbolts  I Stay  Thy  ven- 
geance until  men  shall  repent  1 


CHAPTER  II. 


FATHER  Keenan’s  agony.  — curse  op  celibacy.  — mis- 
step OP  HIS  LIFE. 

The  meeting  with  Mary  Mulligan,  and  the  im- 
pression which  her  fresh  and  youthful  beauty  had 
made  upon  him  stirred,  Jerome  Keenan’s  feelings 
to  their  very  depths.  The  sight  of  her  beauty, 
the  strange  resemblance  the  country  girl  bore  to 
the  one  whom  he  had  loved  and  lost,  and  had 
vainly  sough t*for  years,  had  recalled  with  painful 
vividness  to  the  fallen  priest  the  vanished  dream 
of  his  youth. 

” Oh  that  I had  married  my  own  dear  Marie  I 
Oh  that  I had  chosen  some  other  profession  than 
the  ministry,  — chosen  medicine,  law,  politics, — 
anything  but  the  priesthood  ! ” muttered  Father 
Keenan,  as  he  parted  with  the  youthful,  beautiful 
Mary  Mulligan.  She  looked  the  very  image  of 
his  first  and  only  love,  his  lost  love,  the  idol  of 
his  soul,  the  heaven-sent,  heaven-ordained  fruition 
of  his  youthful,  passionate,  love-inspired  heart. 

He  forgot  where  he  was,  forgot  the  busy  street 
and  the  bustling  life  that  was  beating  and  throb- 
bing  all  about  him,  but  walked  on  with  bowed 


14 


FATHER  KEENAN’S  AGONY. 


head,  muttering  to  himself,  at  times  excitedly  wav- 
ins:  his  arms  or  beatiii"  his  brow,  all  unconscious 
of  the  curious  regard  to  which  his  singular  de- 
meanor  subjected  him. 

" Her  name  was  Marie,  also,”  he  said. 

Strange  1 Her  very  expression  of  countenance, 
too  ! Nay,  the  selfsame  dark  hair  and  eyes,  fig- 
ure and  walk.  How  marvellously  similar  ! Hea- 
vens ! For  an  instant  I forgot  that  many  years 
had  passed  since  my  Marie  left  me  without  a part- 
ing word,  and  my  heart  leaped  at  the  sudden  fancy 
that  I had  found  her  at  last.  Pshaw  ! This  young 
girl  had  not  then  been  born.  I believe  I must  be 
growing  crazy,”  he  muttered,  impatiently.  " Some 
people  indeed  call  me  * Mad  Keenan,’  and  the 
'mad  priest,’  perhaps  with  reason,  too.” 

He  turned  the  corner  of  a street  down  which 
his  course  lay,  and  paused  as  if  by  instinct  before 
a low  drinking  saloon. 

"No!”  he  said,  resolutely  combating  the  im- 
pulse to  enter,  and  hastily  continuing  his  way. 
" I will  go  to  bed  sober  to-night  of  all  nights  I ” 

But  his  resolution  wavered  before  he  had  taken 
a dozen  steps.  He  paused  again,  and  seemed  to 
hesitate. 

" What  use  to  try  and  fight  my  tempter,  ” he 
exclaimed,  with  a despairing  gesture  : "it  always 
conquers  sooner  or  later;  and  why  should  I 


CURSE  OF  CELIBACY. 


15 


struggle  against  my  fate  ? What  have  I to  hope 
for?  What  matters  it  to  any  living  being  how 
soon  I fill  a drunkard’s  grave?  Who  would  mourn 
me?  What  heart  would  feel  a pang  at  Jerome 
Keenan’s  death  ? What  am  I but  a hopeless,  mis- 
erable outcast,  without  a single  tie  that  binds  me 
to  earth  ! Other  men  have  homes,  wives,  chil- 
dren, objects  to  strive  and  struggle  for.  But  I 
am  a priest,  and  to  the  priest  these  blessings  are 
forever  denied.” 

He  struck  his  forehead  with  a gesture  of  bitter- 
ness and  despair.  Then,  entering  the  saloon,  he 
strode  up  to  the  bar,  and,  paying  no  attention  to 
the  various  greetings  of  the  loungers,  all  of  whom 
seemed  to  know  him,  laid  down  a piece  of  money 
and  demanded  drink.  Without  a word  or  a look 
to  anybody,  he  gulped  down  the  fiery  liquid,  and 
moodily  turned  away,  seating  himself  in  a distant 
corner  of  the  room,  and  remained  there  seated  for 
some  time,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands. 

The  men  about  the  bar  gazed  curiously  at  the 
priest,  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  began  to 
comment  in  whispers  on  his  strange  conduct. 

"Arrah,  it’s  a touch  of  the  jim-jams  he  has,” 
said  one.  ” Did  ye  mind  how  his  eyes  rolled  whin 
he  tuk  his  liquor?  Faith,  an’  it’ll  take  more ’n 
two  good  min  ter  howld  Father  Keenan  whin  the 
divils  have  got  him  fair.” 


16 


FATHER  Keenan’s  agony. 


" Give  us  a rest,  Barne}%”  said  another  to  the 
speaker.  " Sure  it ’s  little  ye  know  the  praste. 
It’s  not  the  jim-jams  at  all.  Sure  yeVe  niver 
had  ’em  yerself,  or  ye ’d  know  the  signs  l)etther.” 

" It ’s  in  one  of  his  black  moods  he ’s  in,  sure,” 
said  Pat  Gorman,  the  bar-keeper.  "I’ve  seen 
him  sit  that  way  for  hours,  talkin’  ter 'himself,  an’ 
niver  moindin’  a soul,  nor  sphakin’  ter  ennybody, 
unless ’t  was  ter  ax  fur  a dhrink.” 

"It’s  a good  man  is  Father  Keenan,  ennyhow, 
whin  the  dhrink ’s  not  in  him,”  said  another  of  the 
group. 

There  was  a general  chorus  of  assent  to  this 
sentiment,  and  many  instances  of  the  priest’s  char- 
ity and  kind-heartedness  were  recited,  while  his 
prowess  in  various  encounters  was  descanted  on 
with  the  admiration  which  personal  strength  and 
courage  usually  excite  among  men  of  their  stam[). 

Meanwhile  Father  Keenan,  sitting  with  head 
bowed  upon  his  hands,  was  pursuing  the  same 
bitter  train  of  thought,  apparently  as  oblivious  of 
his  surroundings  as  when  walking  through  the 
crowded  streets. 

As  Pat  Gorman  had  said,  the  priest  was  indeed 
in  " one  of  his  biack  moods”  to-day.  Life  at  best 
wore  but  a dark,  sad  aspect  to  him  ; but,  recalling 
as  now  the  bright  promises  of  his  youth,  the  tri- 
umphs of  his  meridian  period,  and  the  utter  fail- 


CURSE  OF  CELIBACr. 


17 


ure  and  shipwreck  of  later  years,  his  horizon 
seemed  overhung  by  a heavy  and  portentous 
shadow,  pierced  by  not  a single  ray  of  light. 

" Why  do  I live  ? Why  not  cast  off  the  weary 
burden  of  life  at  once?”  Such  was  the  gloomy 
tenor  of  his  thoughts.  ”To  die  is  to  be  at 
peace,  — at  rest.  What  care  I for  the  childish 
superstitions  in  which  I was  bred?  Those  scare- 
crows and  nightmares  of  the  church, — purgatory 
and  everlasting  fire.  Bah  ! I have  been  too  long 
a priest  to  fear  them  or  believe  in  them.  Show 
me  the  churchman,  whether  sitting  on  St.  Peter’s 
throne  or  occupying  the  humblest  parish  pulpit, 
who,  in  his  secret  soul,  credits  one  iota  of  such 
delusions,  — delusions  asserted  and  maintained  in 
order  to  enslave  the  souls  of  men  and  weld  the 
iron  yoke  of  Rome  more  securely  about  their 
necks ; all  for  the  glory  of  the  churchy  not  for  the 
glory  of  God ! 

"Yes,”  he  resumed,  returning  to  the  previous 
thought,  "death  is  nothing  compared  with  the 
wretchedness  of  a life  like  mine.  What  hell  could 
equal  the  torments  I suffer?  I am  the  meanest, 
most  servile  of  slaves ! The  slave  of  passions 
and  appetites  that  torture  and  madden  me.  I am 
no  longer  a man ; no  longer  fit  to  live  ! I fall 
daily,  hourly,  into  deeper  degradation.  I am  de- 
based and  shamed  beyond  all  human  creatures  I ” 


18 


FATHER  Keenan’s  agony. 


It  was  terrible,  tliis  agony  of  a strong  man  like 
Jerome  Keenan;  a man  gifted  beyond  ordinary 
men,  who  had  occupied  a brilliant  position  in  life, 
whose  name  had  everywhere  been  spoken  of  with 
love,  veneration,  and  praise,  and  who  had  fallen 
into  such  an  abyss  of  degradation  that  he  could 
claim  only  theives  and  outcasts,  — the  very  scum 
of  society,  — for  his  associates. 

Fallen  indeed  was  this  man  ! Beginning  life 
with  high  hopes  and  splendid  promises  of  future 
eminence,  all  had  come  to  naught.  In  his  youth, 
an  ardent  and  enthusiastic  temperament,  deeply 
religious  withal,  had  led  Jerome  Keenan  to  look 
forward  to  a clerical  callino^  as  the  his^hest  and 
noblest  of  pursuits.  He  determined  to  enter  the 
‘priesthood.  It  was  while  at  college  that  an  influ- 
ence beset  him  that  bid  fair  to  seriously  interfere 
with  his  cherished  life  purpose.  He  fell  in  love, 
and  made  no  secret  of  his  passion,  nor  of  his  re- 
solution to  give  up  his  studies  and  marry  the 
woman  of  his  choice.  But  the  fates  decreed 
otherwise.  He  entered  the  priesthood,  took  the 
vow  of  celibacy,  and  lost  his  first  and  only  love. 
Now  how  bitterly  did  he  regret  that  hasty  action  ! 
How  much  had  he  lost  in  worldly  comforts  ! How 
little  had  he  gained  ! 

Oh  that  I had  married  her ! Fed  upon  hei 
smiles,  been  cheered  by  her  sweet  voice,  enjoyed 


CUESE  OF  CELIBACY. 


19 


the  paradise  of  a happy  home,  the  prattle  of  lov- 
ing children  ; had  something  to  live  for,  hope  for, 
die  for.  But,  alas  ! I am  now  lost,  forever  lost ! 
Lost  in  soul,  lost  in  body,  lost  in  reputation,  lost 
to  hope,  lost  and  ruined  for  time  and  eternity  ! ” 
and  he  wrung  his  hands,  while  tears  rolled  down 
his  furrowed  cheeks  as  he  sauntered  out  of  the 
saloon  and  wended  his.  way  along  the  crowded 
street  towards  the  dreary  attic,  his  only  home. 

On  entering  his  rickety,  tumble-down  abode 
his  thoughts,  his  dreams,  his  reveries,  his  solilo- 
quies were  all  centred  on  his  first  young  love  and 
the  misstep  of  his  own  early  life. 

Marie  MeShea  was  of  high  family,  noble  blood, 
of  still  higher  virtue,  and  beautiful  as  the  Mary 
that  had  just  struck  his  gaze,  whose  features  were 
recalling  all  the  agony  of  his  youthful  despair. 
For  a time  in  his  youth  Jerome  Keenan,  student, 
curate  as  he  was,  had  that  fond  bird  of  paradise, 
Marie  MeShea,  absolutely  under  his  control  and 
in  his  grasp.  She  prayed  by  his  side,  knelt  at  his 
feet,  and  in  the  secret  confessional  poured  out  all 
the  turbulent,  conflicting  emotions  of  her  love- 
inspired  being. 

Young  Keenan  was  happy.  He  looked  upon 
that  weeping,  prostrate,  young  maiden  in  raptures  ; 
he  gazed  in  ecstacies  of  delight ; he  toyed  with 
her  young  heart  as  the  ensanguined  cat  toys  with 
the  imprisoned  mouse  in  its  paws. 


20 


FATHER  KEEXAN’s  AGOXY. 


Oh,  what  peril  for  the  warm,  throbbing  pulse  of 
a young  man  and  student ! Angels  fell  with  less 
temptation.  He  played  upon  the  passions  of  that 
susceptible,  unsuspecting  girl  as  one  plays  upon  a 
musical  instrument.  Love  was  a contagion.  Her 
passions  at  last  became  his  passions,  and  Jerome 
Keenan  was  ensnared  in  the  toils  of  undying  affec- 
tion for  the  idol,  yet  victim  at  his  feet.  But 
there  were  bars  to  his  pleasure,  — if  he  married 
he  must  forever  give  up  the  priesthood.  ''  Oh, 
the  curse  of  celibacy ! ” he  cried. 

If  she  yielded  further  she  was  ruined  for  all 
time.  Happy  was  she  in  having  friends.  They 
advised  her  at  once  to  break  from  his  spell,  his 
presence,  which  she  did,  and  never  set  eyes  upon 
her  charmino^  confessor  but  once  a^ain. 

The  occasion  of  that  fateful  meeting  may  be 
related  hereafter. 

Keenan  took  his  loss  terribly  to  heart,  and  be- 
came despondent  and  wretched.  Instead,  how- 
ever, of  quenching  his  passions,  he  soon  fostered 
them  in  other  blooming  fields  of  the  confessional, 
until  his  complete  exposure,  degradation,  and 
downhill  have  brought  him,  an  almost  total  wreck, 
to  this  dilapidated  hovel  of  poverty. 

"Oh,  the  curse  of  celibacy!”  he  cried,  wring- 
ing his  hands.  "If  you  dam  waters,  they  rush 
more  furiously ! They  even  break  from  lawful 
channels  ! So  with  human  passions;  so  with  the 


CUKSE  OF  CELIBACY, 


21 


priesthood ; they  break  from  the  guarded  banks  of 
chastity  ! They  flood  the  land  with  sensuality  ! ” 

And  Father  Keenan  was  right.  Look  at  the 
bagnios  of  Boston,  the  dance-halls  of  North  Street, 
the  open  licentiousness  of  Pitts  and  Portland 
and  other  streets,  too  numerous  to  mention. 
Three  fourths  of  the  inmates  and  habitues  Roman 
Catholics  ! And,  oh,  horrible  sight ! Look  at  the 
streams  of  cyprians  passing  my  own  church  door  ! 
Ten  years  ago  scarcely  one  to  be  seen,  now  fifty  a 
night  I Ten  years  ago  not  a dally  or  barter 
allowed  in  the  street.  Now,  scarcely  a man  can 
pass  without  being  accosted  by  these  filles.  A 
trade  is  struck  up,  price  is  named,  house  and 
number  pointed  out,  and  all  this  right  in  the  eyes 
of  the  police  and  before  scores  of  male  lookers-on, 
all  watching  the  bargain  or  trade  of  sin  as  they 
watch  the  prize-ring  or  the  market  of  the  bulls 
and  bears. 

Thus  Boston  has  become  polluted  and  defiled ; 
thus  morality  has  been  driven  out  from  the  city 
of  the  Puritans ; thus  foreign  customs  have  been 
introduced,  while  wholesome  laws  are  relaxed  or 
openly  derided  and  defied. 

Glance  back  to  the  time  when  that  fearful  scar- 
let letter  A,  with  all  its  terrible  significance,  was 
worn,  perforce,  on  the  breast  of  the  woman  who 
had  sinned  against  virtue,  broken  the  seventh 
commandment. 


22 


FATHER  Keenan’s  agony. 


Under  Catholic  rule  the  red  letter  A,  though 
representing  a terrible  crime,  might  signify  noth- 
in<>:  more  than  " and  be  worn  upon 
the  breast  as  a scapular.  But  with  those  stern 
old  Puritan  men  of  God  it  meant  the  awful  crime 
of  " Adultery  ! ” 

There  was  no  escape,  no  avoiding  the  brand. 
She  could  not  hide  it  from  public  gaze.  It  blazed 
like  a birthmark,  red  and  tiery,  upon  her  bosom, 
proclaiming  her  dishonor  and  infamy  to  the  entire 
community.  Youth  and  innocence  could  not, 
then,  be  blindly  contaminated  by  her  artful  seduc- 
tions and  fascinations.  Her  character  was  known, 
and,  like  the  leper,  she  was  avoided  and  shunned. 
Now  you  jostle  her  sisterhood  on  the  streets,  in 
the  omnibus  and  horse-car,  at  the  concert  and  the 
theatre,  yea,  even  in  the  church.  Your  wives, 
your  sons,  and  your  daughters  may  meet  her  at 
the  crowded  seashore,  at  the  fashionable  mountain 
resort,  and  may  dance  with  her  in  the  same  set  at 
the  summer  hop  and  at  the  winter  ball. 

Is  there  no  remedy,  no  legislation,  to  meet  the 
alarming  increase  of  the  " social  evil  ” here  in 
Boston?  Yes,  when  Catholic  laxity  in  morals, 
wdien  the  licentious  habits  of  Catholic  nations  shall 
be  honestly  rebuked  by  the  voice  of  the  priest- 
hood, and  the  power  of  the  church  itself,  and  not 
till  then. 


CURSE  OF  CELIBACY. 


' 23 

Look  at  Boston’s  present  rulers,  mostly  Catho- 
lics or  Catholic  sympathizers.  Never  before  were 
junketing,  jobbery,  and  profligacy  carried  on  with 
such  unblushing  shame  ! 

“Souls  for  sale  here”  is  stamped  upon  the 
brow  of  nearly  all  the  Catholic  heads  of  our  City 
Government.  “ Souls  for  time,  souls  for  eter- 
nity.” “ Roman  Catholic  votes /b?’  sale  or  to  letJ* 
Who  bids  highest?  Better  pull  down  the  Amer- 
ican eagle  from  City  Hall,  and  erect  in  its  stead 
the  three  balls  of  the  pawnbroker,  — a sign  typical 
of  our  barter  in  souls  and  votes  ! 

Yet  in  the  face  of  all  this,  Ex-Judge  Chamber- 
lain,  now  head  of  the  Public  Library,  says 
innocently,  “ Catholics  are  geneially  chaste.  I 
found  but  few  arrested  and  brought  before  me 
when  I was  on  the  bench.” 

The  judge  is  in  the  dark  as  to  the  facts.  I 
asked  him  how  he  knew  what  religion  criminals 
professed.  He  said  they  were  either  indifierent 
or  announced  themselves  as  Protestants.  Uncle 
Cook  was  his  authority.  Uncle  Cook  is  blinded, 
also.  While  professing  Protestantism,  nay,  even 
assuming  American  Protestant  names,  nearly  all  of 
these  Catholic  criminals  carry  a charm  or  scapular 
around  their  necks  “ to  keep  off  the  evil  spirit, 
ward  ofi*  death  and  judgment.”  Nine  out  of  ten  of 
them  would  refuse  to  eat  meat  on  Friday,  and 


24 


FATHER  Keenan’s  agony. 


there  are  Catholic  harlots  in  Boston  to-day  who 
with  superstitious  lear  wear  blessed  medals  and 
say  their  prayers  as  regularly  as  the  most  devout 
Catholic  who  ever  carried  a pair  of  rosary  beads 
or  knelt  at  the  feet  of  the  priest  in  the  confessional, 
while  at  the  same  time  they  are  sunk  in  the  very 
deepest  mire  of  debauchery  and  sin. 

I know  whereof  I speak.  I know  the  alpha 
and  omega  of  this  subject.  I have  spent  time 
and  money  in  ascertaining  the  facts,  and  for  years 
have  made  the  Catholic  question  in  all  its  phases 
my  chief  study. 

No  wonder  when  intelligent  Protestants  allow 
themselves  to  bo  hoodwinkel  that  Catholic  in- 
fluence ejects  Henry  Morgan’s  books  from  the 
Public  Library  shelves,  refuses  him  the  special 
card,  as  author  and  clergyman,  he  has  a right  to 
receive  by  the  laws  of  the  institution. 

No  wonder  when  Catholics,  having  less  than 
one  third  of  the  votes,  rule  the  city ; when  Prot- 
estants and  non- church-goers  are  blind  to  their 
devices  ; when  the  elite  and  rich  contribute  blindly 
to  every  charity,  cutting  their  own  throats  at  the 
same  time. 

Such  are  the  eflects  of  Catholic  rule  and  in-  * 
fluence  in  Boston,  such  the  fruits  of  Catholic 
teachings.  And  the  same  is  true  of  every  com- 
munity where  the  Church  has  obtained  a strong- 
hold the  world  over. 


CHAPTER  III. 


FATHER  Keenan’s  early  renown.  — veiled  worship- 
per.  SENSATION  IN  A CHURCH. TRIP  OF  THE  TOE 

AT  THE  ALTAR. 

Let  us  go  back  to  the  days  when  Father  Jerome 
Keenan  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame  and  renown. 
Rector  of  one  of  the  largest  parishes,  young, 
handsome,  popular,  eloquent,  he  was  the  idol  of 
the  street  and  the  idol  of  his  people,  especially 
the  female  portion  of  his  parishioners. 

It  was  a gala-day  at  the  Church  of  the  Holy 
Apostles.  The  occasion  was  the  celebration  of 
one  of  the  grandest  festivals  of  the  church,  the 
feast  of  Corpus  Christi.  The  young  pastor  had 
made  preparations  on  a grand  scale  to  celebrate  it, 
with  all  the  edat  and  pomp  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic ritual. 

Almost  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  Bos- 
ton, the  high  dignitaries  and  State  officials  had 
condescended  to  grace  the  occcasion  by  their  pres- 
ence. There,  in  reserved  pews,  were  officials  of 
city.  State,  and  nation.  Heretofore,  Boston’s  cul- 
tured society  had  looked  down  in  pity  and 
contempt  upon  the  illiterate  "Irish  church,”  as  it 


26 


FATHER  Keenan’s  early  renown. 


was  called.  Now  and  then  they  gave  it  a shilling 
or  a dollar,  out  of  charity  or  pity,  but  not  out  of 
reverence  or  respect. 

But  all  this  was  changed  under  the  rectorship  of 
Father  Keenan.  From  the  time  of  his  advent, 
mayors,  governors,  senators,  and  judges  were  fre- 
quent listeners  to  the  music  and  the  doctrines  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

On  the  present  occasion  Father  Keenan  sur- 
passed himself  in  eloquence  and  in  theatrical  effect. 
He  astonished,  captivated,  and  enthused  the  staid 
denizens  of  Beacon  Street  as  by  a magician’s 
l^ower.  The  students  of  Theodore  Parker, 
Emerson,  and  Channing  were  spellbound  and  en- 
tranced. They  afterward  confessed  that  the  per- 
formance was  as  good  as  a first-class  drama. 
Accustomed  as  they  had  been  to  hear  cold,  theo- 
logical essays  and  theoretical  dogmas,  with  icicle 
logic  from  icicle  pulpits,  this  was  a new  revelation. 

Here  was  a young  man,  without  notes,  brimful 
of  his  subject,  florid,  fiery,  passionate,  red-hot  in 
doctrine  and  feeling,  all  action,  all  eloquence,  all 
aglow  with  his  theme,  a perfect  volcano  of  burn- 
ing conviction  and  overwhelming  subjugation,  let 
- loose  as  a tiger  upon  the  unprotected,  unresisting 
lambs  of  his  spiritual  flock. 

The  effect  Avas  electrifying,  even  to  Boston’s  cold 
logicians  and  free-thinkers.  From  that  hour,  mul- 


SENSATION  IN  A CHURCH. 


27 


titucles  in  aristocratic  circles  began  to  turn  from 
derision  and  scorn  to  reverence  and  veneration, 
and  were  willing,  on  the  proper  occasion,  to  |)ro- 
fess  conversion,  even  to  kiss  the  Pope’s  toe.  From 
that  hour  Kornan  Catholic  coffers  were  filled  with 
Protestant  gold,  and  Koman  Catholic  politics  and 
policies  permeated  every  circle  of  influence. 

He  preached  not  only  upon  Corpus  Christi, 
or  the  Eucharist,  but  upon  other  themes,  to  catch 
the  popular  ear.  To  the  Spiritualists  he  opened 
the  heavens  to  new  visions,  and  called  disembodied 
spirits  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  in  answer  to 
prayer.  First  of  all  was  the  Immaculate  Virgin, 
"Mother  of  God.”  She  came  ail  the  way  from 
the  tomb  of  Joseph,  in  Palestine,  to  grant  her 
benediction  upon  the  Protestant  public  who  had 
contributed  to  the  funds  of  the  " mother  Church.” 

Some  of  the  more  spiritual  and  visionary  in  that 
audience,  by  faith  and  prayer,  declared  that  their 
visual  organs  were  opened,  and  they  actually  saw 
the  face  of  the  Holy  Madonna  with  hands  extended 
in  benediction.  Another  saw  St.  Augustine, 
and  another  St.  Ann,  the  mother  of  the  Virofin. 
Others  saw  the  African  saints  and  bishops  of  olden 
time,  bereft  of  their  dusky  faces,  hovering  over 
the  altar,  chanting  with  the  choir,  answering  to 
the  chorus,  all  surrounded  with  a halo  of  glory 
emanating  from  the  spirit  world. 


28 


FATHER  Keenan’s  early  renown. 


Rarely  did  spiritual  medium  or  necromancer, 
with  dark  lantern  and  cabinet  tricks,  ever  produce 
such  startling  transformations  ! The  altar,  the 
vestments,  the  draperies,  the  pictures  and  images, 
illumined  by  the  variegated  colors  of  the  darning 
sunlight  from  the  stained-glass  windows,  and  aided 
by  the  exquisite  music  and  the  charming  voices  of 
the  officiating  priest  and  his  curates  and  acolytes, 

— all  conspired  to  transport  the  faithful  into 
realms  of  beatific  delight. 

Not  less  effective  was  his  description  of  the 
tragedy  on  Calvary.  In  portraying  the  agony  of 
the  Son  of  God  in  the  Garden  and  on  the  cross, 
but  few  trao^ic  actors  — not  even  those  in  the 
famouo  Passion  Play,  with  all  the  helps  of  scenery, 
orchestra,  footlights,  and  stage  — could  equal  him. 
The  giandeurof  Catholic  ceremonial,  the  hundreds 
of  flickering  candles,  the  peals  of  the  organ,  were 
all  imposing  and  all  in  harmony  with  his  tragic 
theme.  The  bloody  sweat,  the  piercing  nails,  the 
groans,  the  prayer,  the  cry, — "Father,  forgive,” 

— the  yielding  up  of  the  ghost,  the  death  and 
burial,  and  glorious  resurrection,  were  all  depicted 
to  the  life.  Corpus  Christi  was  indeed  a tragedy. 

He  then  descanted  on  "Purity  and  Chastity.” 
His  eloquence  on  this  particular  subject  was  mar- 
vellous , his  figures  of  speech  simply  magnificent. 
All  the  scenes  of  nature  were  brought  into  requisi- 


SENSATION  IN  A CHURCH. 


29 


tion  to  aid  his  glowing  metaphors.  His  poetry  of 
diction  was  not  only  charming  but  astounding. 
The  resources  of  his  genius  seemed  transcendent 
and  inexhaustible. 

Purity  was  made  doubly  pure.  The  snowflake 
had  not  a clearer  glow.  The  icicle  had  not  a speck 
of  dust  to  tinge  the  whiteness  of  its  melting  drops. 
Rippling  streams  from  cooling  fountains  and  crev- 
iced rock  babbled  more  pure,  as  described  in  flow- 
ing eloquence  from  his  mellifluous  lips.  Crystal 
pearly  drops  falling  from  the  azure  sky  of  heaven, 
untainted  by  the  animalculse  of  dusty  earth,  seemed 
purer  by  his  portrayal. 

Sunbeams  had  a richer  hue,  and  moonbeams  a 
sweeter,  more  enchanting  smile  of  uncontaminated 
love.  The  rainbow  was  perfect  purity,  before  its 
falling  drops  touched  this  terrestrial  sphere.  The 
zephyr  blew  from  beds  of  violets  and  roses,  and 
the  lily  of  Israel,  emblem  of  the  Immaculate  Con- 
ception, was  purity  itself. 

Then  came  ” Priestly  Chastity.”  Here  he  ven- 
tured too  far.  At  the  mention  of  priestly  celibacy, 
there  was  one  person  in  that  congregation  who 
manifested  commotion.  Those  who  were  sitting 
near  a veiled  female  form  could  see  her  quake  and 
quiver;  and  more  than  once  her  agitated  hand 
seized  the  edge  of  the  veil,  as  if  to  throw  it  off  for 
some  desperate  purpose. 


30 


FATHER  Keenan’s  early  renown. 


Bat  the  priest,  unconscious  of  the  presence  of 
the  veiled  personage,  descanted  in  still  higher 
strains  on  the  self-denial  and  sworn  continence  of 
the  clergy.  " The  clergy,”  he  said,  ” are  God’s 
vicegerents  ; they  indulge  in  no  home  relations,  no 
connubial  bliss.  They  neither  marry  nor  are  given 
in  marriage,  but  are  as  the  angels  of  God  in 
heaven.’’  Alas!  and  unfortunately  for  his  fame 
and  reputation,  he  was  treading  on  ticklish  ground. 

Another  rustle  in  that  pew,  and  a stir  of  marked 
sensation,  when  he  affirmed,  ''They  neither  marry 
nor  are  given  in  marriage.”  Evidently  there  was 
a turbulence  of  passions  and  of  agony  in  that 
woman’s  breast. 

"Yes,”  he  repeated,  "they  are  as  the  angels  of 
God  in  heaven.  And  who  would  refuse  obedience 
to  the  angels  of  God  ? Such  are  the  shepherds 
called  to  minister  to  you,  the  tender  lambs  of  his 
chosen  flock.” 

At  this,  the  declaration  of  " the  angels  of  God 
in  heaven,”  the  veiled  form,  masked  for  charity’s 
sake,  could  remain  quiet  no  longer.  She  arose 
from  her  seat,  and  with  vehement  gesticulations 
shouted,  " Jerome  Keenan,  that  is  false  I False  as 
the  bottomless  pit  I False  as  the  Serpent,  whose 
child  you  are.  Jerome  Keenan,  you  lie  I ” And  be- 
fore the  audience  could  recover  from  the  shock  she 
da-hed  out  the  side  door,  and  was  seen  no  more. 
Her  name  was  Marie  Me  Shea. 


SENSATION  IN  A CHURCH. 


31 


Father  Keenan  was  at  first  nonplussed  and  dis- 
comfited. He  recognized  the  voice,  knew  it  was 
the  troubled  voice  of  Marie  McShea  ! Oh,  what 
a world  of  thrilling  recollections  pierced  his  soul 
at  that  eventful  moment ! Her  upbraidings,  en- 
treaties, anguish,  and  despair  were  revived  in  a 
twinkling,  and  with  redoubled  vengeance.  Yet  he 
pitied  her,  would  have  given  a world  to  restore 
her  virtue,  would  have  consoled  her  with  all  the 
gifts  in  his  power,  for  he  knew  that  he  was  the 
guilty  party. 

Father  Keenan  soon  recovered  himself,  however, 
stating  that  the  disturbance  was  but  the  freak  of  a 
crazy  woman,  hoped  the  congregation  would  not 
be  alarmed  or  disquieted ; so  he  finished  his  dis- 
course, holding  the  audience  spellbound. 

When  he  descended  from  the  pulpit  and  came 
before  the  altar  his  toe  tripped,  and  he  came  near 
falling.  Alas  for  his  hopes ! His  friends  saw 
that  he  had  been  inspired  by  some  other  spirit 
than  the  spirit  of  heaven.  If  this  was  the  apex, 
the  acme,  of  his  renown,  it  was  also  the  turning- 
point  to  his  terrible  downfall.  Like  a rocket  had 
he  ascended,  and  like  a rocket  must  he  come 
tumbling  ignominiously  down.  New  England 
Puritanism,  as  yet,  had  not  fallen  so  low  as  to 
encourage  and  condone  both  drunkenness  and 
licentiousness  in  the  consecrated  pulpits  of  a 
Puritan  city. 


32  FATHER  Keenan’s  early  renown. 

From  that  hour  Father  Keenan  was  doomed. 
The  wild  accusations  from  an  excited  woman,  his 
flushed  countenance,  his  stumble  on  the  pulpit 
stairs,  started  a scandal  which  gave  to  the  gossi|)- 
mongers  a new  topic.  As  the  congregation  de- 
parted, many  were  the  comments  and  criticisms 
heard  on  all  sides.  The  pillars  of  the  Church,  its 
wealth,  its  aristocracy,  and  more  intelligent  por- 
tion,— the  liquor-sellers, — walked  in  groups  to 
the  nearest  saloon  to  discuss  the  matter. 

"After  all,”  said  one  red-faced  rum-seller, 
" what  does  it  matter  to  us  if  a priest  is  guilty  of 
a crim.  con,  now  and  then,  or  even  if  he  takes  a 
little  of  the  ‘ rale  ould  stuff’  occasionally  to  give 
him  inspiration?  Why,  some  of  the  best  songs  of 
the  Catholic  poet,  Moore,  were  written  while 
under  the  influence  of  liquor.  We  don’t  go  to 
church  for  faith  or  devotion,  we  go  for  policy.” 

"Yes,”  said  another,  who  counted  his  profits  by 
the  thousand,  "this  church  going  is  a regular  part 
of  our  business.  An  Irishman  gives  us  one  half 
of  his  earnings,  and  the  priest  and  doctor  ' scoop 
in  ’ the  other  half.  ” 

There  was  a conflict  of  opinion  regarding  the 
priest’s  conduct,  some  seeming  fearful  that  the 
bishop  would  suspend  their  popular  pastor,  and 
the  Church  be  scandalized,  others  condoning  the 
offence  as  an  amiable  weakness.  Yet  not  one 
voice  was  raised  against  the  vice  of  drunkenness. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


BIRDS  OF  PREY.  PLOTTING  AGAINST  A PRIEST.  A 

WOMAN  AT  THE  BOTTOM  OF  IT. 

"Hold  on,  Sam  Skillins  ! What’s  your  hurry? 
Is  that  the  way  you  pass  by  an  old  friend,  without 
SO  much  as  a ' how  d’  ye  do  ’ ? ” 

" Why,  bless  me  ! is  that  you,  Andy  ? ” exclaimed 
the  young  man  addressed,  who  had  been  stopped 
in  his  hurried  progress  along  the  street  by  a sud- 
den grasp  on  the  arm,  and,  on  turning,  had  recog- 
nized in  the  first  speaker  an  old  friend  and  chum, 
"Faith,  you  are  just  the  fellow  I have  been  look- 
ing for  this  week  past.  I heard  you  were  dis- 
charged from  quod,  and,  as  I said,  have  been  on 
the  lookout  for  you  ever  since.” 

" It  was  n’t  very  sharp  you  were  looking,  then, 
my  boy,  for  you  brushed  by  me  just  now  as  though 
you ’d  quite  forgot ' auld  lang  syne,’  or  didn’t  care 
to  remember  Andy  Luttrell.” 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  Andy,”  said  the  other, 
heartily.  " I was  in  such  a drive  that  I did  n’t  see 
you,  that’s  all.  You’re  the  man  of  all  others  that 
1 wanted  to  come  across  at  this  present  moment.” 
" Well,  here  I am,  then,  Sammy,  none  the  worse 


34 


BIBDS  OF  PREr. 


for  a year’s  taste  of  the  stone  jug,  and,  as  ever, 
very  much  at  your  service.  What’s  up,  now? 
And,  above  all,  is  there  any  money  in  it?” 

''Thousands,  my  bo3%  if  you’ve  still  got  the 
backbone  and  plenty  of  nerve  to  go  partners  with 
me  in  a little  game  of  bluff  I’ve  been  planning,” 
said  Skillins,  eying  his  friend  keenly. 

"You  can  count  on  me,  dead  sure,  Sam,  if  that’s 
the  racket.  For  why?  ’Cause  I’m  dead  broke, 
and  am  bound  to  'raise  the  wind’  somehow,  or 
bust ! ” 

"Then  let’s  go  to  McGlinchy’s,  where  we  can 
talk  without  being  overheard,  and  I ’ll  let  you  into 
as  nice  a little  scheme  as  you  could  want,  with 
money  enough  in  it  to  keep  your  pockets  tilled  for 
a month  of  Sundays.” 

The  two  proceeded  without  further  words  to 
the  place  designated,  a well-known  drinking  re- 
sort, kept  by  a famous  sporting  man,  and  here, 
ensconced  in  a private  room,  over  a bottle  of  whis- 
key, Sam  Skillins  commenced  to  unfold  his  plan. 

It  was  a plan  that  a cautious  schemer  like  Skil- 
lins would  hardly  have  revealed  to  any  one,  un- 
less he  had  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  him. 
Of  all  men  in  the  world,  he  knew  that  Andy  Lut- 
trell  could  be  trusted.  The  two,  though  young, 
had  been  bound  to  each  other  by  a long  association 
in  criminal  projects.  At  a tender  age  both  had 


PLOTTING  AGAINST  A PRIEST. 


35 


been  thrown  together  at  the  House  of  the  Guar- 
dian Angel,  a Catholic  institution  for  homeless  and 
wayward  boys.  Neither  of  them  had  ever  known 
father  or  mother ; but  the  Church  assumed  the 
})lace  of  a parent  in  their  case,  — and  a stern  and 
rigid  one  she  proved  to  be,  so  far,  at  least,  as 
to  teach  her  favorite  doctrine  of  blind  obedience, 
enforcing  the  same  with  punishments  and  penances 
innumerable  for  the  slightest  infraction  of  the  rules 
and  ordinances  of  the  institution. 

But  alas  for  the  efficacy  of  Catholic  teachings  ! 
Alas  for  their  much-vaunted  hold  on  the  minds 
and  morals  of  youth  ! In  the  case  of  these  boys, 
Catholic  training  had  been  a dismal  failure.  Two 
more  cunning  and  unscrupulous  rascals,  in  their 
respective  ways,  were  never  let  loose  to  cheat  and 
prey  on  society.  Scapulars,  holy  water,  beads, 
charms,  and  confession  were  at  a discount,  when, 
at  fifteen  years  of  age,  they  were  turned  adrift 
from  the  asylum,  and  were  told  that  henceforth 
they  must  earn  their  own  living.  ^ 

In  less  than  a year  both  of  these  promising 
youths  found  themselves  sentenced  to  the  Reform 
School,  for  theft,  during  their  minority;  and  the 
burden  of  supporting  and  reforming  them  was  thus 
transferred  to  the  State.  Six  months,  however, 
had  not  elapsed  when  the  fertile  mind  of  Sam 
Skillins  planned  an  ingenious  method  of  eluding 


36 


BIRDS  OF  PREY. 


the  vigilance  of  guards  and  keepers,  and  with  his 
old  comrade,  Andy,  made  a daring  and  successful 
break  for  freedom.  In  vain  were  rewards  offered 
for  their  apprehension  ; in  vain  every  effort  to  re- 
capture the  precious  pair : they  had  made  good 
their  escape,  and  the  State  Reform  School  beheld 
them  no  more  forever. 

On  reaching  a place  of  safety,  the  first  thing  for 
the  refugees  to  do  was  to  assume  new  names  and 
new  clothes.  The  former  was  accomplished  with- 
out difficulty.  Martin  Sullivan,  as  he  had  been 
christened  at  the  House  of  the  Guardian  Angel, 
became  Sam  Skillins,  and  Terence  Driscoll  was 
thenceforth  known  as  Andy  Luttrell.  Two  suits 
of  clothes  the  young  adventurers  managed  to  steal 
in  a country  village,  and,  hiding  their  old  gar- 
ments in  the  woods,  betook  themselves  by  circui- 
tous ways  to  Boston. 

For  a time  the  boys  kept  together,  working  at 
odd  jobs  here  and  there  when  luck  was  against 
them,  and  they  could  find  no  safe  opportunity  of 
stealing.  Honest  labor  was  not  to  their  taste, 
however  ; and  together  they  planned  and  executed 
many  schemes  of  petty  thievery,  and  generally 
managed  to  escape  detection.  This  was  princi- 
pally due  to  Sam’s  consummate  dexterity  ; for  his 
was  the  thinking  head  that  did  the  scheming, 
while  the  executive  part  of  the  programme  was 


PLOTTING  AGAINST  A PRIEST. 


37 


usually  confided  to  the  ready  hands  of  Andy.  At 
last,  however,  the  latter  was  caught  in  the  toils  of 
the  law,  and  received  a year’s  sentence  to  the 
House  of  Correction.  The  long  partnership  of 
crime  was  thus  ruthlessly  broken  for  a time  by  the 
iron  hand  of  Justice,  and  the  cronies  had  now  met 
for  the  first  time  since  Andy’s  release. 

"It’s  as  easy  as  rolling  off  a log,  Andy,  my 
boy,”  said  Skillins,  after  he  had  drawn  a brief 
outline  of  the  plot  he  had  in  view.  " There ’s  no 
danger,  absolutely  not  the  least,  you  see.  It ’s  a 
new  line  of  business  for  us  two,  that’s  true,  cer- 
tainly, — different  from  what  we ’ve  been  used  to  ; 
but  I ’ve  been  thinking  it  over,  and  it  seems  to  me 
there ’s  biowr  stakes  to  be  gained  and  less  risk  to 
run  than  anything  we ’ve  ever  been  up  to  yet. 
What  d’  ye  say,  old  pard  ? ” 

"Why,  it’s  for  you  to  say,  Sammy.  I never 
M)acked  water’  yet  on  anything  you  ever  put  up, 
and  I don’t  see  any  reason  to  now.  But  half-con- 
fidence is  no  confidence,  you  know.  Let’s  hear 
the  whole  jig.  Who’s  the  blooming  fool  that’s 
going  to  let  us  bleed  him  to  the  tune  of  five  thou- 
sand dollars,  and  never  squeal  for  his  money?” 
Skillins  did  not  immediately  answer.  He  had 
hesitated  thus  far  to  name  the  victim  he  had  se- 
lected, out  of  regard  for  certain  prejudices  which 
he  knew  his  partner  cherished.  If  the  gaining  of 


38 


BIRDS  OF  PREY. 


a large  sum  of  money  was  not  sufficient  temptation 
to  override  Andy’s  prejudices,  then  his  little  game 
was  eflectually  blocked,  and  he  would  have  to 
give  it  up. 

Andy,  noticing  this  hesitation  on  the  part  of  his 
friend,  gave  him  a wondering  look,  that  had  a 
shadow  of  suspicion  in  it,  as  he  said,  — 

"Well,  Sam,  what  are  you  hanging  back  for? 
Spit  it  out,  man  ! Who  is  the  gudgeon  that’s  to 
make  our  fortune  for  us,  — and  very  much  against 
his  will,  of  course?  Come,  now,  it  must  be  some 
big-bug,  or  you  wouldn’t  be  so  squeamish.  ’T  ain’t 
the  President,  or  the  Governor,  or  His  Royal 
Kuibs,  the  Mayor  of  Boston,  is  it?” 

" No,  Andy,”  said  the  other,  slowly.  "It’s  only 
a — priest ! ” 

Andy  Luttrell’s  eyes  opened  to  their  widest 
extent;  then  he  quickly  arose  to  his  feet.  "A 
priest  1 ” he  exclaimed  ; and  there  was  an  accent  of 
superstitious  horror  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  as  he 
repeated  the  word.  "It’s  a bad  business,  Sam,” 
he  went  on,  with  a shake  of  the  head  ; " and  I ’m 
fearful  it  would  bring  us  ill  luck  for  the  rest  of 
our  lives.” 

It  was  less  veneration  for  his  religion  than  a 
superstitious  fear  that  gave  Andy  a qualm  at  this 
announcement.  Less  intelligent  than  his  partner 
in  crime,  he  had  never  been  able  to  wholly  divest 


PLOTTING  AGAINST  A PEIEST. 


39 


his  mind  of  the  abject  belief  in  omens,  signs,  and 
portents,  and  the  servile  veneration  for  her  minis- 
ters which  the  Roman  Catholic  creed  inculcates. 
For  example,  though  depraved  and  criminal  in 
every  instinct,  he  still  wore  his  scapulars  upon  his 
neck,  believing  that,  though  they  might  not  save 
him  from  prison  or  his  neck  from  the  halter,  they 
would  at  least  preserve  his  soul  from  everlasting 
torment.  No  matter  how  hungry  he  might  be,  it 
is  doubtful  if  he  would  have  eaten  meat  on  a Fri- 
day, except  under  a dispensation,  although  his 
religion  would  not  prevent  him  from  robbing  a 
house,  or  garroting  a man  for  the  sake  of  relieving 
him  of  his  pocket-book. 

Sam  Skillins  burst  into  a derisive  laugh  at 
Andy’s  words. 

" 111  luck  ! ” he  repeated.  " Humbug  ! A priest 
is  but  a man  like  you  and  me,  Andy.  And  if  he, 
a minister  of  God,  lets  his  passions  and  appetites 
get  the  better  of  him,  he ’s  lower  and  worse  than 
ordinary  men.  Now  this  priest,  I know,  has  a 
stronger  liking  for  fire-water  than  holy  water; 
and,  more  than  that,  he  has  an  eye  for  a pretty 
woman.  Yes,  he’s  one  of  those  men  whom  a 
woman  can  just  wind  round  her  thumb,  and  make 
him  her  toy  and  slave.” 

"Well,  who  is  this  priest?” 

"Father  Jerome  Keenan,  of  the  Church  of  the 
Holy  Apostles.” 


40 


BIRDS  OF  PREY. 


Andy  gave  a start  of  surprise. 

"You  are  flying  at  high  game,  Sam,”  he  said; 
but  it  was  evident  that  his  scruples  were  subsid- 
ing, and  that  the  greed  of  gain  was  gradually 
surmounting  his  superstitious  fears. 

" Have  you  found  the  woman  who  is  to  be  the 
cat’s-paw  in  this  little  game  of  yours  ? ” he  asked, 
presently. 

"That  is  your  part  of  the  biz,  Andy,”  said 
Skillins,  with  a significant  look.  "There  are 
plenty  of  women  whom  we  might  choose,  but 
there  is  only  one  whom  we  could  trust ! ” 

Andy  slowly  rose  to  his  feet.  There  was  a 
troubled  look  in  his  face.  He  knew  at  once  that 
his  artful  friend  referred  to  one  who  was  all  in  all 
to  him,  — a fair  siren,  who,  born  as  some  women 
seem  to  be,  to  enslave  and  captivate  men,  and  lead 
them  willing  captives  by  their  Circean  charms, 
was,  by  a strange  contradiction,  devoted  to  the 
death,  if  need  were,  to  this  rough,  hardened  mis- 
creant, Andy  Luttrell.  Yes,  she  loved  this  brute, 
who  had  abused  aud  cruelly  beaten  her  time  and 
again.  A mere  girl  in  ye^rs,  she  had  become 
perfectly  inflituated  with  him.  His  brute  strength, 
his  daring  courage,  his  big,  burly  trame,  somehow 
supplied  to  her  imagination  that  ideal  of  manly 
power  which  woman  instinctively  looks  for  and 
admires  in  the  opposite  sex. 


PLOTTING  AGAINST  A PKIEST. 


41 


Strange,  indeed,  that  a girl  marvellously  beau- 
tiful, delicate  and  refined  by  nature,  though  lack- 
ing, indeed,  high  culture,  should  attach  herself  to 
a man  of  coarse,  brutish  instincts,  like  Andy 
Luttrell  ! It  was  Beauty  and  the  Beast,  Miranda 
and  Caliban,  Bill  Sikes  and  poor,  devoted  Nancy, 
— the  contrast  between  these  two.  Incongruous, 
paradoxical,  anomalous,  indeed,  such  a connection 
may  seem  to  be ; but  the  poet  Byron  has  answered 
every  sneer,  and  every  objection  to  its  truth  and 
fidelity  to  nature,  in  those  two  famous  lines,  — 

“ Why  did  she  love  him?  Curious  fool,  be  still! 

Is  human  love  the  growth  of  human  will?  ” 

For  a moment  Andy  Luttrell  did  not  speak. 
There  was  a struggle  going  on  in  his  breast.  The 
project  was  more  than  distasteful  to  him.  He  still 
retained  some  little  feeling,  some  spark  of  sensi- 
bility. Could  he  surrender,  even  for  a moment, 
the  woman  so  devoted  to  him,  to  the  arms  of 
another  man,  even  for  the  sake  of  gain? 

"You  mean  my  girl,  Sam,”  he  said,  at  last. 
"You  mean  Nora  Brennan!” 

"Yes,”  said  the  other.  "She  is  the  only  one 
capable  of  doing  what  we  want.  And  if  you  tell 
her  to  do  it,  Andy  Luttrell,  she  would  obey  with- 
out a murmur,  and  you  know  it.” 

"Yes,  I know  it,”  said  Andy,  sententiously. 
"But  — ” 


42 


BIRDS  OF  PREY. 


" I understand  your  objections,”  interposed  Skil- 
lins  ; " but  they  are  foolish  and  absurd.  You  know 
that  Nora  would  not  look  at  another  man  in  earnest, 
and  she  is  a woman  that  knows  how  to  take  care 
of  herself,  if  any  woman  does.” 

Perhaps  Sam  Skillins,  who  somewhat  envied  his 
friend  the  possession  of  such  a rara  avis  as  Nora 
Brennan,  may  have  had  some  practical  proof  of  the 
truth  of  this  statement.  The  two  discussed  the 
matter  at  some  further  length,  and  Skillins  tinally 
overcame  all  his  companion’s  scruples.  How  this 
dastardly  plot  succeeded  will  be  told  in  the  follow- 
ing chapters. 

Meanwhile,  poor  Father  Keenan  must  watch  his 
laurels.  Undoubtedly  loose  in  his  habits,  and 
guilty  of  several  misdemeanors,  he  by  these  sins 
lays  himself  open  to  black-mail  jobs  which  none 
but  an  honest  man  could  repel.  A man  that  can 
stand  up  before  the  courts  and  before  the  world, 
and  dare  his  accusers  face  to  face,  dare  them  to 
bring  on  their  proofs  and  do  their  worst,  — this 
Father  Keenan  could  not  do.  His  vices  were  too 
apparent,  too  public  for  concealment.  " Take  us 
the  foxes,  the  little  foxes  that  spoil  the  vines.” 
Little  sins  eat  out  the  buds  of  hope. 


CHAPTER  V. 


NORA  Brennan’s  devotion.  — beauty  and  the  beast, 
— RESULT  OF  Andy’s  mission. 

When  Andy  Luttrell  parted  from  his  partner  in 
crime,  Sam  Skillins,  it  was  to  proceed  at  once  to 
lay  their  nefarious  scheme  liefore  Nora  Brennan 
and  secure  her  co-operation  therein. 

" It  will  be  no  easy  job,”  muttered  Andy,  doubt- 
fully, to  himself,  as  he  mounted  the  stairway  to 
Nora’s  rooms.  " I ’d  rather  take  a thrashing  than 
drag  her  into  such  a plant.  But  il ’s  no  use  talk- 
ing : there ’s  big  money  in  it,  and  money  1 want ; 
and  what ’s  more,  money  1 ’ll  have  ; and  she  shall 
get  it  for  us,  whether  she  will  or  no  ! ” 

So  saying,  he  opened  the  door  and  walked  in 
without  ceremony.  Nora  met  him  at  the  threshold. 
She  had  heard  his  footstep,  and,  with  the  quick 
ear  of  aflection,  had  recognized  it  at  once.  A 
beaming  smile  of  love  and  pleasure  lit  up  her 
briijht,  winsome  face  as  she  greeted  him  with  a 
caress,  and  helped  him  oft*  with  his  overcoat. 

"Andy,  sure  you  ’re  a darling  for  coming  home 
so  early,  when  I did  not  expect  you  for  hours,” 
she  said,  after  he  had  seated  himself.  " See  I 


44 


NORA  Brennan’s  devotion. 


There’s  your  supper  on  the  stove,  all  hot  and 
ready  for  you.” 

" You  need  n’t  have  taken  the  trouble,  Nora,  for 
I ’ve  already  had  all  I want,”  he  answered,  too  in- 
tent on  considering  how  to  break  the  matter  of  the 
plot  to  her  to  heed  her  look  of  disappointment. 
Without  replying,  the  girl  silently  seated  herself 
at  a table  and  resumed  the  sewing  which  she  had 
flung  aside  at  his  entrance. 

Andy  fidgeted  for  a moment,  shifting  his  hands 
and  feet  restlessly,  and  at  last  got  up  and  com- 
menced to  pace  the  room. 

" It  is  n’t  much  of  a place  for  a born  lady  like 
yourself,  Nora,”  he  said,  stopping  and  giving  a 
contemptuous  glance  around  the  room.  Jt  was 
a small  room,  scantily  furnished  indeed,  and  with 
none  of  the  luxuries,  scarcely  a sufficiency  of  the 
commonest  comforts  of  life  ; but  it  was  exquisitely 
neat,  and  everywhere  showed  the  deft,  tidy  handi- 
work of  woman’s  fingers. 

Nora  looked  up  in  surprise  at  the  remark. 

"I  wish  it  were  better,  for  your  sake,  Andy 
darling,”  she  said,  fondly.  " As  for  me,  why,  it’s 
good  enough  for  a poor  working  girl,  who  must 
earn  her  bread  by  the  sweat  of  her  brow,  or  rather 
by  making  shirts  at  starvation  price  the  dozen.” 
And  she  playfully  held  up  the  garment  she  was 
then  occupied  with,  pointing  at  the  same  time  to 
a pile  on  the  table  already  finished. 


RESULT  OF  Andy’s  mission. 


45 


For  nearly  a week  Andy  Luttrell  had  been  out 
of  prison,  and  during  that  time  he  had  lived  on 
the  fruits  of  Nora’s  industry.  More  than  that, 
during  the  long  period  of  his  incarceration,  not  a 
visiting  day  had  passed  that  the  faithful  girl  had 
not  been  to  see  him,  and  never  with  empty  hands. 
Such  luxuries  as  prison  rules  permitted,  and  which 
her  humble  means  afforded,  she  had  supplied  him 
with,  and  never  conveyed  by  a hint  even  that  she 
had  procured  them  at  the  cost  of  depriving  herself 
of  actual  necessaries. 

Probably,  in  his  selfish,  brutish  way,  Andy  ap- 
preciated the  love  and  self-sacrificing  spirit  of  this 
girl,  who,  familiar  indeed  with  vice  from  being 
born  and  bred  in  its  midst,  and  living  all  her  young 
life  among  its  pestiferous  atmosphere,  had  still 
some  dim,  vague  longings  for  a worthy  existence, 
and  had.  Heaven  know^s  how,  managed  to  set  at 
naught  the  many  temptations  to  vicious  courses 
which  beset  a woman  in  her  unprotected  condition, 
— one,  too,  possessing  such  extraordinary  beauty 
as  was  hers. 

A true  love  has  been  many  a woman’s  salvation, 
and  perhaps  this  was  the  secret  which  had  pre- 
served Nora  Brennan  from  plunging  headlong  into 
the  abyss  of  shame.  There  was  much  in  her  re- 
lations to  Andy  Luttrell  to  which  the  moralist  must 
take  exception,  nay,  much  that  must  be  severely 


46 


NORA  Brennan’s  devotion. 


condemned  ; but  at  least  she  had  ever  been  true 
to  him  ; and  it  was  not  her  fault,  neither  was  it  for 
lack  of  constant  supplications,  that  she  was  not 
his  lawful  wedded  wife.  He  had  sworn  to  mnrry 
her,  and  it  is  but  justice  to  Andy  Luttrell  to  say 
that  he  fully  meant  to  keep  his  vow,  — that  is, 
when  it  should  suit  his  convenience,  — and  in  this 
belief  Nora  fully  trusted. 

"Well,  you  sha’n’t  work  for  starvation  wages 
much  longer,  Nora,”  Andy  resumed,  after  a mo- 
ment. " I ’m  going  to  get  to  work  in  a day  or  two 
myself.  I ’ve  been  growing  rusty  for  the  p?ist 
year,  but  shall  soon  get  into  the  harness  again,  and 
try  and  strike  out  for  us  both  once  more.” 

"O  Andy!”  exclaimed  Nora,  dropping  her 
sewing  and  springingto  his  side,  while  a gleam  of 
joy  and  delight  flashed  in  her  dark  eyes.  " Do 
you  mean  right  down,  square,  honest  work?  Such 
work  as  honors  a man  ? Work  that  raises  and  en- 
nobles him?  Work  that  he  can  point  to  with  pride 
and  say,  ' I did  that  with  my  own  strength ; I 
fashioned  this  with  my  own  hands  ; this  money  I 
gained  by  honest  toil?’  O Andy  I is  that  what 
you  mean  ? ” 

And  the  young  girl  standing  before  him  with 
clasped  hands,  her  frame  quivering  with  emotion, 
her  bewitching  eyes  literally  dancing  with  hope 
and  joy,  made  a very  pretty  picture  that  few  men 
could  have  resisted. 


RESULT  OF  Andy’s  mission. 


47 


Very  lovely,  very  enchanting  she  looked  thus, 
and  Andy  Luttrell  thought  he  had  never  seen  her 
^o  alluring.  But  her  enthusiasm  awoke  but  one 
idea  in  his  vicious  and  insensate  mind,  and  that  was, 
"By  George!  she’s  a born  actress  I She’ll  do 
the  job  for  us  as  no  other  woman  could.  What 
man,  what  priest  even,  could  withstand  such 
beauty  as  that ! Sam  Skillins  was  right  I He 
knows  what  he ’s  about  I ” 

"You  do  not  answer  me,  Andy  dear,”  Nora 
resumed,  while  the  sparkling  light  seemed  to  fade 
from  her  countenance. 

And  suddenly  flingingherself  at  his  feet  and  lay- 
ing her  clasped  hands  upon  his  knee,  she  continued 
earnestly,  — 

" Oh,  I had  hoped  and  prayed  that  you  would 
forsake  your  old  habits  and  calling  whim  you  were 
free  once  more.  1 have  looked  forward  to  the 
time  when  we  could  hold  up  our  heads  with  the 
highest ; when  you  would  turn  your  back  on  your 
old  companions,  get  into  some  good,  honest  busi- 
ness, and  leave  the  old,  hateful  life  behind  us  for- 
ever I O Andy,  darling,  think  how  pleasant  and 
how  happy  our  lives  would  then  be  1 To  have  a nice 
home,  to  be  your  own  faithful  wife,  never  to  feel 
the  worry,  the  anxiety,  the  daily  and  nightly  ter- 
ror of  the  police;  never  to  dread  the  coming  of 
the  morning’s  light,  and  you  away  on  some  dark, 


48 


NORA  Brennan’s  devotion. 


perilous  errand  that  might  end  in  prison  and  sep- 
arate us  forevermore  ! Oh,  think  of  it,  Andy  I 
Promise  me  here  and  now  that  you  will  commence 
this  new  life.  I will  help  you  with  all  my  strength. 
I will  work  my  fingers  to  the  bone  for  you  ! Nay, 
we  will  both  work,  and  prove  that  bread  earned 
by  honest  toil  is  infinitely  sweeter  than  the  choicest 
luxuries  gained  by  crime  I O Andy ! Andy  I 
listen  to  my  prayer  I Listen  to  your  own,  true  and 
loving  Nora,  who,  above  all  earthly  things,  cares 
only  to  secure  your  comfort  and  happiness ! ” 

She  paused  and  looked  at  him,  her  face  aglow 
with  hope,  her  lips  parted  in  expectancy,  awaiting 
the  answer  to  her  impassioned  appeal.  The  man 
must  indeed  have  been  the  veriest  clod,  his  heart 
but  a lump  of  ice,  not  to  have  been  moved  by  so 
much  faithful  love  and  earnestness.  And  moved 
he  was ; but  alas ! not  in  the  way  the  poor  girl 
anticipated. 

" Never  heard  such  a preacher  in  my  life  as  you 
are,  Nora ! ” he  exclaimed,  with  a jeering  laugh 
and  with  a hiccough,  for  the  heat  of  the  room 
began  to  act  on  the  liquor  he  had  been  imbibing 
with  Sam  Skillins,  and  his  brain  was  far  from 
steady.  " Why,  I see  some  new  charm  in  you 
every  day  ! Lord  ! there’s  a fortune  in  your  voice 
alone,  my  girl.  You  talk  of  work,  when  you’ve 
got  talents  enough  to  win  money  by  the  cartload 


RESULT  OF  ANDY’S  MISSION. 


49 


without  soiling  your  pretty  fingers  with  dirty 
labor  ! Work  ! I hate  the  very  name  ! Neither  you 
nor  I were  born  to  work  for  a living,  Nora  Brennan  ! 
I never  was  tauj^ht  the  delights  and  virtues  of 
work  that  you  prate  so  much  about.  I don’t  see 
it  in  your  light,  you  see.  I was  brought  up, 
you  know,  at  a public  Catholic  asylum,  where  we 
boys  chiefly  learned  how  to  cheat  our  masters,  lie 
out  of  scrapes,  pick  each  others’  pockets,  and  play 
the  mischief  generally.  When  I got  old  enough 
to  shift  for  myself,  they  turned  me  loose  into  the 
streets,  and  told  me  to  help  myself.  Well,  I have 
helped  myself  ever  since, — that  is,  to  anybody’s 
property  that  I could  lay  hands  on, — and  precious 
good  pickings  I ’ve  found  it,  oflT  and  on.  Of  course, 
everybody  strikes  a streak  of  ill-luck,  and  I ’ve  had 
mine.  But  that’s  all  over  now,  and  I ’m  on  a lay 
that’s  bound  to  prove  a ten-strike  for  us  both,  and 
I want  your  help  in  it.” 

Nora’s  dream  vanished  with  this  speech  of  her 
lover.  She  saw  he  was  too  thoroughly  interested 
in  some  new  scheme  of  villany  to  heed  any  further 
words  of  hers.  She  sank  despondently  in  a chair, 
while  Andy,  drawing  closer  to  her,  recounted  in 
a low  tone  the  details  of  Sam  Skillins’s  plot  against 
Father  Jerome.  She  heard  him  patiently  to  the 
end,  and  then  she  sprang  indignantly  to  her  feet. 

" And  you  expect  me,  the  woman  you  profess 


50 


NORA  Brennan’s  devotion. 


to  love,  whom  you  have  sworn  to  make  yonr  wife, 
— you  expect  me  to  play  tliis  low,  vile  part  of  a 
temptress  and  deceiver  ! ” she  exclaimed,  her  eyes 
flashing  with  scorn,  hut  suddenly  filling  with  tears 
of  grief  and  disappointment. 

" Of  course  I do,”  said  the  ruffian,  brutally,  stung 
by  her  reply.  " Where ’s  the  harm,  I ’d  like  to 
know.  All  you ’ve  got  to  do  is  to  play  your  points 
up  to  a certain  limit,  and  then  me  and  Sam  Skil- 
lins  will  step  in  and  finish  the  job.” 

" Sam  Skillins  ! ” cried  the  poor  girl.  "I  might 
have  known  that  such  a scheme  could  come  from 
no  brain  hut  his.  O Andy  ! if  you  would  only  cut 
adrift  from  that  man  I It  is  he  alone  who  is  lead- 
ing you  on  to  ruin.” 

"Humbug  ! he ’s  the  best  friend  I ’ve  got  in  the 
world.  But  come,  I want  your  answer.” 

"Oh,  I cannot  do  it,  Andy  ! Do  not  ask  me,  I 
implore  ! ” 

"Fudge  and  fiddlesticks  ! You  can,  and  must ! 
It ’s  the  last  thing  of  the  kind  I ’ll  ever  ask  you 
to  do,  Nora,  and  I swear  by  all  that ’s  holy,  if 
you  please  me  in  this  I’ll  marry  you  this  day 
week  ! ” 

The  girl  started  and  trembled  at  this  pledge, 
which  was  the  highest  bribe  that  her  lover  could 
have  offered  her.  But  the  next  instant  she  shook 
her  head. 


RESULT  OF  ANDY’S  MISSION. 


51 


”No,  not  even  for  that,  Andy,  can  I soil  my 
soul  with  such  infamy  ! ” she  said,  resolutely. 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  ruffian’s  face.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  oath,  and,  before  she 
knew  it,  caught  her  delicate  throat  in  his  rude 
grasp. 

"What!”  he  cried,  hoarse  with  fury,  "you 
dare  refuse  me  anything  I ask  I You,  a girl  born 
in  the  gutter,  whom  I picked  up  out  of  the  streets, 
dare  prate  to  me  about  honesty,  virtue,  and  soiling 
your  soul  I Drop  such  patter  of  the  gospel  shops, 
I tell  you,  — it ’s  all  flung  away  on  me,  — and  an- 
swer me  once  more,  and  be  careful  how  you  an- 
swer; for,  if  you  refuse  again,  by  all  the  saints 
in  the  calendar,  i swear  I ’ll  throw  you  over  and 
send  yon  adrift,  after  breaking  every  bone  in  that 
pretty  carcass  of  yours  I Now,  what  d’ye  say? 
Will  you  do  what  I want  or  not?” 

Nora  Brennan  was  brave  beyond  her  sex ; but 
with  that  infuriated  brute  standing  over  her,  one 
hand  clutching  her  throat,  the  other  raised  threat- 
eningly as  if  to  crush  her  with  a blow,  and,  above 
all  fear  of  bodily  harm,  the  dreadful,  overwhelm- 
ing threat  he  had  uttered  of  deserting  her,  dispelled 
all  her  courage,  and,  at  last,  half  dead  with  terror 
and  her  agonized  feelings,  the  poor  girl  yielded 
and  gave  a reluctant  consent  to  the  wishes  of  the 
wretch  whom  she  had  chosen  for  her  lord  and 
master.  . 


CHAPTER  VI. 


FATHER  JEROME  BECOMES  RECKLESS.—  HOW  NORA  BLAYED 
HER  PART. THE  PRIEST  FALLS  INTO  THE  TRAP. 

An  almost  reckless  mood  had  taken  possession 
of  Jerome  Keenan.  Everything  that  made  life 
endurable  seemed  slipping  away  from  his  grasp. 
The  air  was  rife  with  rumors  reirardino-  his  late 

c?  o 

Conduct.  Friends  and  enemies  alike  were  canvass- 
ing the  matter.  When  a clergyman  falls  from 
grace,  people’s  tongues  will  wag.  Envy,  like  death, 
’t  is  said,  loves  a shining  mark.  The  priest’s  proud 
and  combative  nature  was  aroused,  therefore,  by 
all  that  h(‘  heard.  He  had  grown  proud  and  arro- 
gant, perhaps  by  the  servility  and  obsequiousness 
that  surrounded  him  on  every  side,  and  was  not 
prepared  to  receive  with  humility  the  varied  com- 
ments on  the  recent y? .7 SCO.  A few  days  after  the 
festival  of  Corpus  Christi,  a summons  came  for 
him  to  call  upon  the  archbishop.  Divining  the 
object  of  it,  knowing  that  the  scandal  had  reached 
the  prelate’s  ears,  he  had  the  temerity  to  send 
some  trivial  excuse  which  was  almost  tantamount 
to  a refusal  to  obey.  Piobably  no  other  priest  in 
the  archdiocese  would  have  dared  thus  to  trifle 


HOW  NOKA  PLAYED  HER  PART. 


53 


with  the  archbishop.  But  Father  Jerome  felt 
like  a lion  goaded  by  gnats,  and  was  in  no  humor 
to  humiliate  himself  or  allow  his  enemies  and 
detractors  to  witness  such  humiliation. 

”IfI  am  to  fall,  so  be  it,”  he  said  to  himself 
in  his  bitter  mood.  "But,  if  they  drive  me  to 
extremities,  my  fall  shall  be  like  that  of  Samson. 
I will  pull  the  temple  down  about  their  ears,  and 
involve  bishop,  priesthood,  and  church  in  one  com- 
mon ruin.  But  they  dare  not  go  too  far  with 
Jerome  Keenan.  The  bishop  knows  what  I know, 
and  I know  too  much,  am  possessed  of  too  many 
secrets  of  the  church,  have  been  admitted  too 
often  to  the  inner  sanctuary,  for  Bishop  Gilpatrick 
and  his  creatures  to  press  the  weight  of  their 
authority  on  me.” 

Such  was  the  spirit  that  animated  Father 
Jerome  at  this  time.  But  pride  goeth  before  a 
fall,  saith  Holy  Writ.  Little  did  the  proud  priest 
know  all  that  was  in  store  for  him.  Little  could 
he  anticipate  the  power  and  malignity  of  his  adver- 
saries. To  treat  so  high  a dignitary  with  such 
scant  courtesy  as  Father  Jerome  had  shown  to  his 
superior  was  to  make  for  himself  a most  power- 
ful enemy.  It  was  one  of  the  greatest  mistakes  of 
Jerome  Keenan’s  life,  and  bitterly  was  he  destined 
to  rue  it. 

No  more  auspicious  time  than  the  present  could 


54  FATHER  JEROME  BECOMES  RECBXESS. 

have  been  selected  by  Sam  Skillins  for  pursuing 
his  plot  of  black-mail  against  the  priest.  He 
had  familiarized  himself  with  Father  Jerome’s 
habits  and  mode  of  life.  He  had  learned  by  some 
secret  means  pretty  much  all  that  passed  daily  in 
the  priest’s  household,  and  had  found  out,  much  to 
his  satisfaction,  that  at  this  time  of  trouble  and 
trial  Jerome  Keenan  had  taken  to  himself  the 
solace  of  the  brandy  bottle,  and  was,  in  short,  just 
in  that  reckless  state  to  render  him  likely  to  fall 
headlong  into  the  trap  set  for  his  unwary  feet. 

Returning  homeward  one  evening  from  a visit  to 
a friendly  parishioner.  Father  Jerome  was  accosted 
at  his  doorstep  by  a woman  who  in  most  piteous 
accents  begged  him  for  alms. 

It  was  a cold,  bitter  night ; the  rain  was  falling 
in  a steady  drizzle,  chill  and  cutting  as  sleet. 
Looking  at  the  young  woman,  perceiving  that  she 
was  ill-clad,  with  nothing  but  an  old  shawl 
thrown  over  her  head,  and  that  she  seemed  to  be 
shivering  with  cold,  the  priest’s  compassion  was 
quickly  aroused. 

Whether  the  fact  that  the  rays  of  the  street 
lamp  before  his  door  enabled  him  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her  face,  and  to  see  that  it  was  a youth- 
ful and  very  beautiful  one,  though  apparently 
pinched  with  cold  and  suffering ; whether  this  fact 
had  anything  to  do  with  exciting  his  sympathies, 


HOW  NORA  PLAYED  HER  PART. 


55 


must  be  left  to  the  imagination.  However  it  was, 
Father  Jerome’s  hand  at  once  sought  his  pocket, 
and  drawing  out  a roll  of  bills,  he  pressed  one 
into  the  woman’s  outstretched  palm. 

She  was  in  the  act  of  clutching  the  money, 
when  suddenly  and  with  a low  cry  she  staggered 
and  sank,  half  fainting,  upon  the  doorstep. 

To  ring  the  bell  and  raise  the  drooping  figure 
in  his  stalwart  arms  was  the  work  of  a moment 
only  for  the  priest  to  do  ; and  as  his  housekeeper 
quickly  responded  to  his  summons  and  opened  the 
door,  he  cried,  — 

" Here  is  a poor  girl  whom  I found  fainting  with 
cold  and  hunger  on  the  doorstep,  Mrs.  Mahoney. 
Assist  me  to  carry  her  into  the  sitting-room.” 

This  was  speedily  done,  and  the  unfortunate 
woman,  revived  by  the  warmth  of  the  room,  and 
by  some  hot  drink  administered  by  Mrs.  Mahoney 
at  her  master’s  suggestion,  was  soon  sitting  up, 
quite  restored,  and  began  to  murmur  her  grateful 
thanks  for  the  aid  and  succor  afforded  her. 

"There,  my  dear  child,”  said  Father  Jerome, 
kindly,  " do  not  trouble  yourself  to  thank  me.  I 
will  leave  you  now  for  a few  moments  while  Mrs. 
Mahoney  procures  you  dry  clothing  and  gives  you 
some  food,  of  which  you  seem  to  stand  in  need.  I 
will  return  presently,  and  then  you  can  tell  me 
your  story,  and  I will  see  what  further  can  be 
done  to  assist  you.” 


56  FATHER  JEROME  BECOMES  RECKLESS. 

So  saying,  the  priest  left  the  room,  carrying 
with  him  the  vision  of  a face  of  such  arch-loveli- 
ness, that  even  the  beauty  of  Marie  McShea  seemed 
to  pale  and  grow  insignificant  before  it. 

On  returning  soon  afterward,  Father  Jerome 
found  his  new  charge  sitting  before  the  open  fire- 
place, alone.  She  gave  him  a shy,  grateful  look, 
and  arose  with  a modest  reverence  as  he  entered. 

” Be  seated,  my  child, ’’said  he  ; and  as  she  obej^ed, 
he  took  a chair  beside  her,  and  glanced  with  inter- 
est into  her  pale  yet  inexpressibly  beautiful  face. 

One  of  the  priest’s  besetting  weaknesses  was 
his  admiration  for  a pretty  woman.  He  was  no 
exception  to  the  general  rule  of  the  priesthood  in 
this  respect.  Far  from  it.  Laj^men  would  be 
surprised,  and  perhaps  disgusted,  to  know  how 
largely  the  topic  of  woman  and  woman’s  charms 
enter  into  the  thoughts  and  ordinary  conversation 
of  priests  when  gathered  together  among  them- 
selves ; perhaps  on  the  principle  that  what  is  de- 
nied is  doubly  attractive.  The  beauty  and  per- 
sonal qualities  of  this  and  that  fair  penitent  are 
canvassed  with  the  freedom  and  indelicacy  that 
the  "points”  of  a racehorse  are  talked  over  by 
sporting  men  ; and  they  twit  and  banter  each  other 
about  certain  female  members  of  their  respective 
flocks  in  a way  that  would  make  the  ears  of  self- 
respecting  husbands,  fathers,  and  brothers  burn  and 
tingle  if  they  could  but  hear  them. 


HOW  NOE  A PLAYED  HER  PART. 


57 


The  power  given  to  the  priest  by  the  confes- 
sionul,  the  close  relations  which  in  consequence 
sul>sist  between  Catholic  women  and  their  spiritual 
advisers,  taught  and  compelled  as  they  are  to  re- 
veal even  the  most  sacred  mysteries  of  their  lives 
to  their  confessors,  the  familiarity  with  which 
matters  pertaining  to  the  sexual  relation  are  re- 
ferred to  between  priest  and  penitent,  are  natu- 
rally subversive  of  native  modesty  and  of  that 
moral  restraint  which  Christian  civilization  has 
erected  as  a bar  to  the  free  and  indiscriminate  in- 
dulgence of  the  passions,  and  which  is  the  very 
rock  and  foundation-stone  on  which  our  civilization 
rests. 

We  say  this,  not  to  cast  a slur  upon  the  priest- 
hood as  individuals  or  as  a class,  but  in  condem- 
nation of  a system  which  does  a pernicious  work 
under  a sacred  name.  All  honor  and  glory  to 
that  little  band  of  independent  Catholics,  those 
modern  Luthers  of  the  church,  who,  in  the  face  of 
much  detraction  and  calumny,  have  dared  raise 
their  voices  and  taken  their  noble  stand  against 
those  dogmas  and  ordinances  of  the  Roman  Church 
which  conflict  with  all  enlightenment,  all  progress, 
and  all  morality. 

Father  Jerome,  then,  we  portray  as  one  of  the 
striking  fruits  of  priestly  training,  made  such,  less 
by  natural  inclinations  than  by  the  force  of  asso- 
ciation, of  precept  and  example  ; and  we  vouch  for 


58  FATHER  JEROME  BECOMES  RECKLESS. 

the  truth  and  fidelity  of  the  portraiture,  for  he  is  a 
study  taken  from  the  very  life. 

" What  is  your  name,  my  child?  ” resumed  the 
priest. 

" Nora  Brennan,”  was  the  low  answer. 

” But  what  drove  you  to  the  street  on  such  an  in- 
clement night  as  this  ? ” he  asked. 

" story,  Father,  is,  I fear,  but  a too  common 
one,”  replied  Nora,  sadly.  And  then  (as  if  with 
great  reluctance,  and  frequently  interrupted  by 
her  sobs  and  tears)  she  told  the  priest  a most 
harrowing  tale  of  abuse  and  wretchedness  on  the 
part  of  a brutal  husband.  This  man  she  acknowl- 
edged she  had  once  loved  (or  fancied  she  loved), 
but  he  had  soon  proved  himself  one  of  the  cruel- 
est  of  domestic  tyrants.  He  made  her  work  for 
him  as  long  as  she  was  able  to  work,  and  then 
drove  her  with  curses  and  blows  into  the  streets  to 
beg,  while  he  (too  lazy  to  earn  a living)  squan- 
dered the  money  in  low  vices. 

In  short,  Nora’s  artful  story,  composed  of  truth 
sufficient  to  lend  an  air  of  sincerity  to  its  relation 
(as  it  was  designed  to  do),  had  a powerful  eftect 
on  Father  Jerome.  He  pitied  her  deeply,  and  pity 
in  his  case  was  very  near  akin  to  love. 

In  the  end  the  priest  pressed  some  money  upon 
the  girl,  bade  her  return  to  her  home,  and 
promised  on  the  next  day  to  call  at  her  house. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


FATHER  JEROME  VISITS  NORA. — THE  TRAP  IS  SPRUNG. 

THE  PRIEST  DEFIES  THE  PLOTTERS.  ^ 

"Good  afternoon,  my  dear,”  said  Father  Je- 
rome, as  he  entered  Nora  Brennan’s  apartment 
the  next  day,  agreeably  to  his  promise. 

Nora  was  sitting  by  the  window,  and  her  sad, 
tear-stained  face  lighted  up  with  what  seemed  a 
flush  of  pleasure  as  her  visitor  came  in.  That  sad 
look  was  by  no  means  assumed  for  the  occa- 
sion. She  had  really  been  crying,  and  crying  in 
deepest  agony,  at  the  despicable  part  her  tyrant 
was  compelling  her  to  play.  That  part  was  in 
every  sense  repugnant  to  her  nature,  and  filled  her 
with  shame,  with  grief  and  remorse.  Yet  there 
was  but  one  alternative  for  the  poor  girl : either 
she  must  carry  out  the  farce  to  a successful  end, 
or  be  subjected  to  her  lover’s  brutality,  and  then 
be  deserted  by  him  and  left  to  her  fate. 

Ah ! how  powerful  is  woman’s  love ! How 
true,  how  tender,  how  self  sacrificing ! It  may  ^ 
make  her  an  angel  or  a demon,  a saint  or  a sinner 
of  the  deepest  dye  ! Lower  than  the  very  beasts 
is  the  man  who  would  take  base  advantage  of 


60 


FATHER  JEROME  VISITS  NORA, 


woman’s  affection  to  drive  her  to  sin  and  shame 
through  the  tendcrest  emotions  of  her  soui  J 

The  priest  noted,  with  quick  compassion,  Nora’s 
sad  looks,  her  drooping  form  and  languid  move- 
ment, as  she  arose  to  welcome  him.  He  took  her 
hand  and  gave  it  a tender  and  encouraging  ^Dres- 
sure  as  he  led  her  back  to  her  seat. 

"You'  have  been  in  my  thoughts  continually 
since  we  parted,  my  poor  child,”  said  he.  " Your 
sorrowful  story  has  deeply  impressed  me,  and  I 
would  do  much  to  make  your  lot  a happier  one. 
Confide  freely  in  me,  Nora.  Tell  me  without 
reserve  how  I can  best  help  you.  To  relieve  the 
sorrowing  and  distressed  is  one  of  the  highest 
duties  of  my  office  as  a priest,  and  it  is  a pleas- 
•ant  as  well  as  a sacred  duty  to  me.” 

" You  — you  are  very,  very  kind.  Father,”  mur- 
mured Nora,  trembling  and  almost  overwhelmed  ; 
for  the  magic  tenderness  of  the  priest’s  manner, 
the  earnest  sympathy  with  which  he  spoke,  aroused 
an  almost  invincible  disgust  and  abhorrence  in  her 
heart  against  the  task  she  had  undertaken  to  per- 
form. " Oh !”  she  continued,  with  a sudden  and 
irresistible  outburst  of  feeling,  wringing  her  hands 
and  breaking  into  tears,  — "oh!  that  I could  tell 
you  all  I O Father,  that  I could  pour  out  all  the 
misery  of  my  heart  to  you  without  reserve  I Oh  ! 
oh  I I cannot,  cannot  do  it ! I cannot,  nay,  I 
will  not  betray  — ” 


THE  PRIEST  DEFIES  THE  PLOTTERS.  61 


She  paused  suddenly.  Carried  away  by  the 
intensity  of  her  emotions,  the  poor  girl,  in  one 
more  word,  would  have  revealed  enough  to  arouse 
her  dupe’s  suspicions.  For  the  moment  she  was 
on  the  verge  of  distraction  ; but  a smothered  sound, 
seemingly  coming  from  the  adjoining  room,  re- 
called her  instantly  to  herself  and  to  the  neces- 
sity of  controlling  her  agitation.  Nature  had 
almost  triumphed  over  art  in  that  one  moment,  and 
the  girl  felt  a terrible  fear,  and  grew  pale  and 
giddy  as  she  realized  how  nearly  she  had  precipi- 
tated herself  into  the  abyss. 

Father  Jerome,  however,  had  not  heard  that 
vague  sound,  so  full  of  significance  to  Nora’s 
ears.  Her  words  seemed  perfectly  natural  to 
him,  although  he  was  surprised  at  the  violence  of 
her  emotion. 

"If  any  new  cause  of  trouble  has  occurred,  my 
child,”  said  he,  gently,  "I  will  not  ask  you  to 
reveal  it  now,  since  it  seems  to  distress  you  so 
much.  But  you  should  remember  that  I am  a 
priest,  and  it  would  be  no  betrayal  of  any  confi- 
dence, in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  to  tell  all 
your  causes  of  affliction  to  me.  But  from  what  I 
already  know,  I can  easily  surmise  that  you  have 
been  subjected  to  some  fresh  outrage  on  the  part 
of  your  husband.” 

Nora  bowed  her  head  as  if  in  acquiescence,  but 
did  not  speak. 


62 


FATHER  JEROME  VISITS  NORA. 


" I pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul,  poor 
child,”  said  Father  Jerome,  feelingly.  1 must 
see  your  husband,  Nora.  He  is  a Catholic,  is  he 
not  ? ” 

" He  is.  Father.” 

” Then  perhaps  I may  be  able  to  influence  him 
to  treat  you  better,  and  to  become  a worthier 
husband.  Yes,  I will  see  him  this  very  day.” 

" That  will  be  impossible,  your  reverence,”  said 
Nora  ; " for  he  left  home  this  morning,  after  taking 
the  money  you  gave  me,  and  said  that  he  should 
not  return  for  several  days.” 

" Left  home  ! ” exclaimed  the  priest,  indignantly. 
" Left  you  without  protection  and  without  means  ! 
Oh,  it  is  outrageous  ! What  manner  of  man  can 
your  husband  be  to  forsake  a young,  lovely,  and 
faithful  wife,  as  I know  you  must  be,  Nora,  in  this 
cruel  and  heartless  fashion  ? It  is  shameful ! 
shameful  ? ” 

And  Father  Jerome  bent  forward  and  again 
took  Nora’s  little  hand  in  his. 

"Alas,  Father!”  she  said,  with  downcast  eyes, 
"it  is  no  new  experience  to  me.  Day  after  day, 
nii2:ht  after  ni^ht,  I have  been  left  thus  alone. 
Ah  1 I fear  my  husband  cares  very  little  for  me. 
His  love  has  long  since  died  out,  or  he  would  not 
treat  me  so.  There  are  fairer  faces  than  mine, 
deeper  fascinations  than  I possess,  Father.” 


THE  PRIEST  DEFIES  THE  PLOTTERS.  63 


She  said  it  with  such  an  air  of  modest  self- 
depreciation that  the  priest  was  inwardly  amused, 
in  spite  of  his  pity  and  sympathy.  The  idea  that 
any  man,  possessing  such  a bewitching  creature  as 
Nora  Brennan  for  a wife,  coukl  be  tempted  from 
his  allegiance  by  another  woman  was  the  very 
height  of  absurdity.  In  all  his  varied  experience. 
Father  Jerome  had  never  yet  met  the  peer  of  this 
lovely  girl ; no,  not  even  Marie  McShea,  he  con- 
fessed to  himself,  could  approach  her  in  those 
alluring  qualities  which  tempt  and  fascinate  men. 
The  bending,  willowy  form,  the  rich  tint  of  the 
smooth  skin,  the  large,  sweet  eyes,  whose  lustrous 
depths  suggested  wells  of  slumbering  passion, 
stirred  the  susceptible  heart  of  the  priest  as  no 
woman’s  attractions  had  stirred  it  since  his  early 
youth. 

"She  is  a veritable  goddess,”  said  he  to  himself. 
"Diana  had  not  a more  charming  face,  Venus  no 
more  lovely  form  ! ” 

He  drew  nearer  to  her,  and  said  in  a voice  that 
be  tried  to  render  calm,  " And  yet,  in  spite  of 
his  ill-treatment,  you  still  love  your  husband, 
Nora?” 

" Love  him ! ” she  repeated,  springing  to  her 
feet,  and,  mindful  of  her  odious  part,  throwing  a 
torrent  of  simulated  passion  into  her  tone.  "I 
hate  him  I Hate  and  detest  him  as  man  never 


64 


FATHER  JEROME  VISITS  NORA. 


was  hated  by  a wronged  and  outraged  woman 
before  ! (God  forgive  me  for  the  lie  ! ” she  mut- 
tered, under  her  breath.)  "O  Father,  forgive 
me ! ” she  cried,  suddenly  dropping  upon  her 
knees  at  his  feet.  "I  knew  not  what  1 said. 
It  was  wrong  to  speak  so  of  my  husband.  I had 
no  ris^ht  to  utter  such  words  in  a stranger’s  ears.” 

o o 

"You  must  not  regard  me  as  a stranger,  my 
child,”  said  the  priest,  soothingly,  and  raising  her 
gently.  " Henceforth,  Nora,  you  must  look  upon 
me  as  a friend,  — a friend  ever  ready  to  aid  you  to 
the  extent  of  his  power.  You  will  think  of  me  as 
such,  will  you  not?” 

And  he  laid  his  hand  caressingly  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  gazed  into  the  eyes  that  were  raised 
to  his,  and  seemed  to  see  in  their  depths  an 
answering  glance  that  thrilled  him  to  the  very 
heart. 

It  was  a moment  full  of  peril  to  the  priest,  — a 
peril  not  only  to  his  soul,  but  to  every  earthly 
interest  on  which  he  set  store.  But  he  was  blind 
to  all  this ; he  was  completely  in  the  toils,  like 
another  Samson,  powerful  yet  weak,  strong, 
mighty,  and  towering  among  men,  yet  the  veriest 
puppet  in  an  artful  woman’s  hands. 

Perhaps,  gazing  at  the  siren  before  him,  he 
thought  of  the  weariness  of  his  life,  the  sorrows 
that  had  crowded  it,  like  a full  bowl  that  runneth 


THE  PRIEST  DEFIES  THE  PLOTTERS. 


65 


over ; of  the  tyranny  of  fate  which  had  snatched 
this  cup  of  joy  from  his  lips,  and  made  him  athirst 
ever  since.  He  was,  moreover,  a priest  and  a 
casuist,  and  had  learned  to  stifle  the  voice  of 
conscience,  to  allay  its  sharpest  prickings,  by  a 
method  of  reasoning  that  he  would  have  con- 
demned  as  deadly  sin  in  another.  Marie  McShea 
was  forever  dead  to  him ; there  was  a void  in  his 
heart  that  yearned  for  the  solace  and  sympathy 
that  only  woman’s  love  can  give  ; and  here  before 
him  was  this  beautiful  woman,  looking  upon  him 
as  a friend  and  benefactor,  and  whose  soft  glances 
now  seemed  full  of  the  reflection  of  that  magic 

“ Light  which  never  was  on  sea  or  land.” 

A wild  delirium  seemed  to  come  upon  him  and 
possess  his  senses  while  he  gazed,  in  which  mo- 
ments, perhaps  hours,  passed  by,  and  left  their 
impress  only  with  such  fevered  images  as  flit 
through  a madman’s  brain.  .A  cry,  sharp,  pier- 
cing and  full  of  terror,  broke  the  spell  of  his  en- 
chantment, as  Nora  suddenly  flung  herself  upon 
his  breast,  and,  clinging  with  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  cried,  — 

” Save  me,  Father  ! save  me  ! He  will  kill  me  I 
See  ! God  help  me  ! It  is  my  husband  ! ” 

And  there,  standing  in  the  doorway,  their  faces 
expressing  astonishment,  blended  with  fiery  wrath, 
were  Andy  Luttrell  and  Sam  Skiiiins  I 


66 


FATHER  JEROME  VISITS  NORA. 


For  a moment  not  a word  was  said.  Nora,  after 
that  startled  cry,  had  burst  into  a fit  of  hysterical 
weeping,  more  real  than  affected,  for  the  strain 
U{)on  her  nerves  had  given  way  at  last,  and  she 
had  sunk  into  a chair  completely  overcome. 

Agitated  Father  Jerome  certainly  was  at  this 
startling  denouement ; but  in  the  face  of  danger  he 
seemed  to  recover  all  his  power  and  energy  of 
mind. 

Andy  Luttrell  sprang  fiercely  toward  the  priest, 
and  launched  forth  at  him  a string  of  oaths  and 
foul  vituperation  that  would  have  stunned  and 
shocked  even  a rum-seller’s  ears.  Bui  Father 
Jerome  calmly  waited  until  he  had  ceased,  and 
then  said,  — 

You,  then,  are  this  young  woman’s  husband?” 

"Yes,  I am  that  same ; and,  if  1 had  a pistol  or 
weapon  of  any  kind,  I would  show  you  that  I 
know  how  to  avenge  this  stain  upon  my  honor, 
priest  though  you  are  ! ” answered  Andy,  with 
considerable  bluster. 

A disdainful  smile  played  upon  Father  Jerome’s 
lips.  He  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  first  at 
the  girl,  whose  face  was  buried  in  her  hands,  then 
at  Sam  Skillins,  who  stood  in  the  background,  re- 
garding the  scene  with  ill-disguised  anxiety,  and 
lastly  his  gaze  came  back  to  Andy. 

Now,  if  the  latter  had  been  one  tithe  as  skilful 


THE  PRIEST  DEFIES  THE  PLOTTERS.  67 


in  acting  his  part  as  Nora  had  proved  herself  to  be, 
the  victim  of  the  plot  might  have  been  completely 
deceived.  But  Andy  had  unmistakably  over- 
done his  role.  His  swagger,  his  oaths,  his  gestic- 
ulations, were  manifestly  unnatural,  and  like  a 
flash  the  whole  scheme  was  made  plain  to  the 
priest’s  eyes.  Still,  with  that  calm,  disdainful 
look,  he  took  his  hat  and  was  moving  towaril  the 
door,  when  Luttrell  threw  himself  in  the  way. 

” You  don’t  get  out  of  the  scrape  quite  so  easy 
as  that ! ” he  cried,  with  a threatening  gesture. 

” Ah  ! indeed  ! ” said  the  priest,  mockingly. 
" But  I forget ; your  wounded  honor  demands  a 
healing  balsam,  of  course.  Well,  what  price  do 
you  set  on  your  lacerated  feelings?  ” 

"You’ll  pay  me  five  thousand  dollars,  and  not  a 
cent  less,  or  to  the  bishop  I ’ll  go  and  lay  the 
whole  case  before  him,”  said  Andy.  " And  thank 
your  patron  saint  that  you  are  a priest,  or  it  would 
be  blood  and  not  money  that  this  affair  would  cost 
you  ! ” 

"Fellow!”  said  Father  Jerome,  "do  you  think 
to  deceive  me  longer?  Were  1 as  guilty  as  you 
pretend,  which  I am  far  from  being,  I would  scorn 
to  stoop  to  the  humiliation  of  saving  my  reputation 
or  my  life  even,  by  purchasing  them  at  your  hands. 
Not  one  dollar  of  my  money  shall  enrich  you  or 
reward  your  silly  plot.  Now,  carry  out  your 


68 


FATHER  JEROME  VISITS  NORA. 


threat,  fly  to  the  bishop  with  your  tale,  and  we 
shall  see  who  wins  the  game,  you  or  I.” 

And  so  saying,  and  with  flashing  eyes,  the 
priest  strode  resolutely  toward  the  door,  crossed 
the  threshold,  and  descended  the  stairs,  while  the 
two  confreres  looked  on,  too  confounded  to  inter- 
pose any  obstacle  to  his  departure. 

It  would  have  been  policy  for  Father  Keenan  to 
have  silenced  those  black-mailers  at  any  cost,  — 
silenced  them,  as  other  priests  have  done.  But  he 
was  inflexible,  and,  in  consequence,  sacrificed  his 
robes  and  his  reputation.  The  sin  of  priestly 
criminality  is  in  being  found  out,  not  in  the  com- 
mission of  the  crime. 

What  becomes  of  the  immense  revenues  of  the 
Church  ? Here  is  a priest,  high  up  in  holy  orders, 
who  paid  $3,000  in  hush  money;  he  was  guilty; 
then,  finding  that  thousands  more  were  demanded, 
in  despair  he  either  took  his  own  life  or  fell  by  the 
stroke  of  Providence.  Other  instances  might  be 
named  by  the  score.  No  wonder  that  mortgages 
of  churches  are  not  lifted,  when  fortunes  are  spent 
in  covering  up  priestly  crimes. 

Father  Keenan  was  too  proud,  too  high-spirited  ; 
he  resented  as  an  insult  the  imputation  cast  upon 
his  honor.  One  week  from  that  time  he  would 
have  given  thousands.  Disabled  soldiers  cannot 
fight.  He  had  been  maimed  in  other  fields  of  sin ; 
this  laid  him  open  to  attack. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  bishop’s  sentence. — THE  LAST  BLOW  FALLS. — 
FATHER  JEROME  IS  “ SILENCED.” 

” My  sin  has  found  me  out ! ” 

Murmuring  these  words,  in  the  accents  of  de- 
spair, Father  Jerome  sank  into  a seat  and  bowed 
his  head  upon  his  hands.  His  shoulders  worked 
convulsively,  his  broad  chest  heaved  with  his  emo- 
tions. Three  days  had  gone  by  since  the  fatal 
visit  to  Nora  Brennan’s  house,  — days  of  anguish, 
of  remorse,  and  of  bitter  self-reproach  had  they 
been  to  him.  None  but  his  God  could  ever  know 
the  agony  of  his  soul.  The  panorama  of  his  whole 
life  had  passed  before  him.  He  recalled  every 
event  of  sin  and  folly,  — and  they  had  been  many. 
He  had  scarcely  touched  food  during  this  awful 
time,  had  hardly  closed  his  eyes  in  slumber.  His 
dark  hair  had  become  threaded  with  silvery  streaks, 
his  flashing  eye  was  dull  and  leaden,  his  cheeks 
were  hollowed  and  had  lost  the  hue  of  health, 
while  his  whole  frame  seemed  to  have  grown  lank 
and  shrunken,  as  if  he  had  undergone  some  severe 
and  wasting  sickness.  . What  it  would  have  taken 
long  weeks  of  physical  pain  and  disease  to  pro- 


i 


70 


THE  bishop’s  sentence. 


(luce  had  been  accomplished  by  the  mental  strain 
of  a few  days,  the  intense  soul-torture  of  one 
suddenly  awakened  to  the  conviction  of  sin,  and 
overwhelmed  by  its  rushing  floods. 

The  story  of  the  scene  in  Nora  Brennan’s  room 
had  gone  forth  garbled,  misstated,  and  enlivened 
by  the  most  sensational  details,  and  was  every- 
where in  men's  mouths.  Vain  every  effort  to  hush 
up  or  explain  the  scandal.  Andy  Luttrell  and 
Sam  Skillins,  chagrined  at  the  failure  of  their  plot, 
had  carried  out  their  threat : the  bishop  had  been 
told  all,  and  much  more  than  had  really  happened. 
The  prelate  had  long  feared  and  envied  the  brilliant 
Father  Jerome,  and  in  his  secret  soul  hailed  with 
delight  this  crowning  act,  which  secured  his  rival’s 
downfall. 

Rousing  himself  at  length,  Father  Jerome  raised 
his  head,  and  took  from  the  table  an  ofBcial-lookino: 
document  sealed  with  the  archepiscopal  signet. 
It  liad  just  been  left  at  the  door,  but,  though  divin- 
ing its  contents,  he  had  not  yet  the  courage  to 
break  the  seal.  Now,  with  a desperate  resolve,  he 
did  so. 

Yes.  as  he  had  expected,  there  was  the  fatal  de- 
. i'ce  in  proper  form,  and  signed  by  the  bishop, — 
the  decree  which  removed  him  from  the  priest- 
hood, that  set  the  bans  of  the  church  upon  him, 
that  took  from  him  all  his  high  honors,  his  useful- 


71 


FATHER  JEROME  IS  "SILENCED.” 

ness,  his  power  and  influence,  yea,  that  plucked 
the  very  bread  from  his  mouth  and  left  him  a 
befr«:ar  and  a homeless  outcast  forevermore.  Father 
Jerome  was  disgraced,  degraded,  dishonored ; he 
was  henceforth  but  a " silenced  ” priest. 

"Oh,  I never  dreamed  of  this  ! ” he  murmured,  in 
a broken  voice,  looking  at  the  paper  with  stnring 
eyes.  "I  felt  too  secure,  believed  that  the  bishop 
at  least  would  stand  my  friend,  for  his  own  in- 
terest’s sake.  God  in  heaven  help  me,  for  I am 
deserted  of  man  ! Let  my  enemies  talk ; I care 
not  for  their  clamor.  But  my  friends,  those 
who  have  stood  by  me  through  good  and  evil  re- 
port, who  have  given  me  their  sympathy  and  love, 
and  strengthened  my  hands  when  they  would  have 
grown  weak  and  faltered  ! O my  friends  ! my 
friends  ! my  dear  parishioners  ! What  will  you  say 
when  this  last  stroke  of  fortune  becomes  known? 
Oh,  you  will  hate  and  despise  your  once-loved  pas- 
tor ! Great  God  ! I shall  see  those  loved  faces 
turned  from  me  in  reproach  and  scorn ; shall  see 
them  shrink  away  as  though  I were  a loathsome 
reptile,  a leper  of  contamination  ! O Holy 
Mother  of  God!  what  is  left  forme  to  do?  Is 
there  no  help?  No  way  of  moving  the  bishop? 
Shall  I go  to  him,  pray  on  my  bended  knees  for 
his  pardon?  Shall  I confess  all  my  sin,  acknowl- 
edge all  the  evil  of  my  heart ; or  shall  I brave  it 


72 


THE  bishop’s  sentence. 


out,  — deny,  lie,  threaten,  accuse  in  my  turn,  and 
dare  Bishop  Gilpatrick  to  make  public  this  decree? 
Alas,  I know  not  what  to  do  ! My  mind  is  waver- 
ing and  unstable  as  that  of  a child.  I cannot 
think  consecutively.  Oh,  I shall  go  mad  with  this 
terril)le  weight  of  woe  ! Pardon,  merciful  Saviour  ! 
Pardon,  Holy  Mary  ! ” 

And  in  the  abandonment  of  his  misery  he  flung 
himself  again  into  his  chair,  beating  his  brow  with 
his  clinched  hands,  tearing  at  his  hair,  and  moan- 
ing and  groaning  like  one  bereft. 

Again  starting  up,  he  cried,  in  the  words  of  the 
Psalmist,  "Yes,  rny  sin  is  ever  before  me  ! Save 
me,  O God  ! for  the  waters  are  come  into  my 
soul ! I sink  in  deep  mire  where  there  is  no  stand- 
ing; I am  come  into  deep  waters,  where  the 
floods  overflow  me.  They  that  hate  me  are  more 
than  the  hairs  of  my  head ; they  that  would  de- 
stroy me  are  mighty  ! ” 

Thus  he  continued  for  some  time  to  groan  forth 
the  agony  of  his  soul,  walking  the  room  with  wild, 
disordered  steps,  throwing  himself  into  a chair, 
and  at  times  grovelling  prone  upon  the  floor  in 
the  paroxj^sms  of  his  anguish. 

In  the  midst  of  one  of  the  wildest  of  these  out- 
bursts there  came  a low,  timid  knock  at  the  door. 
With  a mighty  etfort  he  controlled  the  fever  of 
his  mind  and  bade  the  applicant  to  enter,  thinking 


FATHER  JEROME  IS  "SILENCED.”  73 

it  must  be  his  housekeeper.  To  his  intense  sur- 
prise and  indignation,  when  the  door  opened  Nora 
Brennan  hesitatingly  came  into  the  room. 

"You  here,  miserable  girl!”  exclaimed  the 
priest.  "How  dare  you  venture  upon  such  an  in- 
trusion ? ” 

For  answer,  Nora  raised  her  hands  toward  him 
with  a supplicating  gesture,  and  then  he  first  no- 
ticed the  extreme  pallor  and  haggardness  of  her 
face.  It  was  like  the  face  of  one  dead ; it  was 
but  the  ghost  of  her  former  beauty  that  he  beheld. 
Even  his  own  misery  was  forgotten  for  the  mo- 
ment in  the  unutterable  wretchedness  and  speech- 
less woe  written  on  that  countenance.  His  manner 
changed.  His  great  heart  was  stirred,  as  it  was 
always  stirred,  Christ-like,  in  spite  of  his  faults 
and  vices,  at  another’s  distress.  He  sprang  towards 
her,  for  she  began  to  sway  and  totter  from  weak- 
ness, and  led  her  to  a chair. 

" What  ails  you,  poor  child?”  he  asked  again, 
compassionately. 

"I  — -I  believe  I am  dying,  Father  I ” she  mur- 
mured, with  a gasping  sound. 

"Dying!”  he  repeated,  springing  to  the  table 
and  pouring  out  a glass  of  water  which  he  placed 
to  her  lips.  The  draught  seemed  to  revive  her, 
and  in  a moment  she  spoke  again,  at  the  same  time 
falling  upon  her  knees  at  the  priest’s  feet. 


74 


THE  bishop’s  sentence. 


' "I  could  not  die  until  I had  sought  your  par- 
don, Father,”  she  said.  "I  dragg<-d  myscdf  here, 
though  I was  too  feeble  to  stand,  to  beg  and  pray 
you  to  forgive  my  wickedness  toward  you.  O 
Father!  I fear  I have  ruined  you,  an  innocent 
man.” 

''N"o,  not  an  innocent  man,  God  pardon  me!  ” 
said  the  priest,  sorrowfully.  "Innocent,  perhaps 
I may  be,  as  respects  you,  poor  girl ; but  guilty 
enou<?h  in  the  si^iht  of  Heaven,  I fear ! ’ 

" But  you  will  pardon  and  forgive  me  when  you 
know  all.  Father,  deeply  as  I have  wronged  you, 
will  you  not?”  * 

" I have  already  solved  the  motive  of  jmur  con- 
duct, Nora,”  said  Jerome,  mildly.  " I know  you 
were  but  the  irresponsible  agent  of  others  in  the 
foul  plot  to  despoil  and  ruin  me.  Yes,  I bear  you 
no  ill-will,  and  I forgive  you  freely.” 

" Then  may  God  bless  you.  Father  Jerome  ! ” ’ 
cried  Nora,  fervently.  "If  you  can  forgive  a 
Avicked  girl  like  me,  Avho  hns  Avrought  you  such 
terrible  injury,  then  Heaven  Avill  surely  forgive 
and  save  you.  Listen,  Father,”  she  Avent  on  hur- 
riedly, " and  let  me  tell  you  the  Avhole  of  that 
scheme.”  And  briefly  she  recounted  what  is 
already  knoAvn  to  the  reader,  adding,  hoAvever, 
that  after  the  failure  of  the  plot  her  lover,  in  his 
anger,  had  accused  her  of  having  secretly  betrayed 
the  whole  aflfair  to  the  destined  victim,  for  that 


75 


FATHER  JEROME  IS  "SILENCED.” 

wns  the  only  way  Sara  Skillins  and  Andy  Lut- 
trcll  could  account  for  Father  Jerome’s  defiance 
of  them.  Andy  had  quarrelled  with  her,  had 
struck  her  repeatedly,  and  then  had  abandoned 
her  to  her  fate. 

"Thus,  Father,”  she  concluded,  "you  see  before 
yon  a lost,  hopeless,  and  despairing  creature,  of  no 
use  to  any  one  in  the  world,  and  who  is  wearied, 
utterly  wearied,  of  living  longer  in  it.” 

"Oh,  surely  Heaven  has  sent  you  to  be  my 
salvation,  Nora ! ” cried  the  priest,  as  a sudden 
ho[)e  flashed  on  his  mind.  "Fly  with  me  at  once 
to  the  bishop  ! Kepeat  your  story  to  him  ; he  will 
believe  you  and  the  wrong  you  have  done  will 
be  righted  ! But,  good  heavens  ! What  is  the 
matter,  my  child?  ” 

For  the  girl  had  suddenly  given  a cry  of  agony 
and  fallen  forward  at  these  words,  and  as  the  priest 
bent  down  to  raise  her  to  her  feet,  she  cried,  — 

"Too  late!  too  late!  God  forgive  me!  Why 
did  I not  think  of  that  in  time  ! for  J am  dvi’^ST, 
Father,  dying ! It  is  too  late  now,  too  late!  I 
have  done  a rash  thing ! Father,  forgive  me,  for 
I have  taken  my  life  ! Oh,  pray  for  me.  Father  ! 
You  are  a priest ; give  me  your  absolution  before  I 
die  ! ” 

It  was  only  too  true  ! The  unhappy  girl,  in  the 
delirium  of  her  despair  at  her  lover’s  abandon- 
ment, had  purchased  and  swollowed  some  deadly 


76 


THE  bishop’s  sentence. 


clrus:.  At  the  last  moment,  while  feelinGj  the 
l)oisoii  working  in  her  veins,  she  had  flown  to 
Father  Jerome,  her  only  thought  being  an  intense 
anxiety  to  [)rocure  his  pardon  and  forgiveness. 

Calling  loudly  to  his  housekeeper,  the  priest 
bent  frantically  over  the  dying  girl  and  tried  to 
arouse  her  from  the  stupor  which  had  fallen  u})on 
her.  A physician  was  summoned,  but  his  skill 
was  of  no  avail.  It  was,  indeed,  too  late  ! Nora 
never  opened  her  eyes  or  spoke  again.  The  lau- 
danum she  had  taken,  slow -acting  at  first,  had  at 
last  done  its  fatal  work,  and  within  an  hour  the 
unhappy  girl  had  passed  away. 

The  fact  that  this  girl  had  died  of  poison,  and 
in  Father  Jerome’s  own  room,  intensified  the  feel- 
ing and  awakened  new  suspicions  against  him. 
The  true  explanation  very  few  credited.  It  was 
believed  that  he  was  trebly  culpable,  and  that  Nora 
Brennan  had  destroyed  herself  on  his  account 
alone. 

Thus,  with  this  added  load  of  obloquy  to  his 
already  overweighted  heart,  and  at  last  com- 
pletely broken  down.  Father  Jerome  ceased  to 
struggle  against  his  adverse  fate,  and  sunk,  by 
lower  and  lower  degrees,  to  that  final  stage  in 
which  he  is  protrayed  in  the  first  chapter. 

A denizen  of  the  North  End,  the  station- 
house,  and  the  brothel  was  the  once-famed 
Father  Keenan. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


BEGGARS  AND  BUMMERS. PIETY,  CROSSES,  CHARMS, 

AND  SCAPULARS  AMONG  THIEVES.  SCENE  AT  MRS. 

o’leary’s  lodging-house,  north  end. 

Boston  has  become  the  haven  of  tramps,  the 
Paradise  of  beggars.  Beggars  in  your  pathway, 
beggars  in  the  street,  beggars  at  the  front  do{>r, 
beggars  at  the  back  door,  beggars  in  the  office, 
beggars  in  the  workshop,  beggars  in  the  store, 
beggars,  beggars  everywhere.  Beggars  for  church, 
beggars  for  charity,  beggars  for  church  lotteries, 
beggars  for  cold  meat,  beggars  for  hot  meat,  beggars 
for  old  clothes,  beggars  for  new  clothes, — misfit  or 
any  fit,  so  long  as  they  can  be  sold  at  the  pawn- 
broker’s for  one  tenth  their  value.  So  Ions:  as  cold 
victuals  and  city  soup  can  bring  a drink  of  whiskey, 
a can  of  beer,  or  a bunk  at  night,  so  long  will  the 
fraternity  flourish. 

Astonishing  what  able-bodied  men  a majority 
of  these  beggars  are  ! The  maimed,  the  weak,  the 
sick,  the  aged  do  not  appear.  These  are  supported 
generously  by  the  State,  or  by  their  friends,  when 
too  proud  spirited  to  accept  alms.  But  the  ragged 
army  of  tramps  who  infest  Boston  have  both  cheek 


78 


BEGGARS  AND  BmOIERS. 


and  endurance.  They  can  travel  like  an  Indian, 
eat  like  a gormand,  drink  like  a fish,  swear  like  a 
trooper,  and  pray  like  a saint.  Some  even  bless 
with  the  sign  of  the  cross  the  whiskey  they  drink. 
Fish  and  eggs  on  Friday.  Give  them  meat,  they 
throw  it  to  the  dogs.  In  summer  they  sleep  be- 
hind wood-piles,  on  the  public  Common,  in  the 
groves,  ill  empty  cars,  and  on  the  W'harves.  In 
winter  they  throng  the  various  homes,  — the 
Chardon  Street  Home,  the  Temporary  Home,  the 
North  End  Home,  the  Lewis  Street  Home,  — or 
in  the  rickety  garret  homes  of  those  who  share 
their  gathered  pelf  and  booty. 

Professional  begging  is  a fine  art ; a profession 
that  requires  skill,  tact,  talent,  experience,  cheek, 
and  perseverance,  also  thanks  without  limit.  Par- 
rot-like words  of  unbounded  gratitude  for  the 
smallest  favors : " May  all  the  saints  and  the 
Blissid  Yargin  protect  yer.” 

In  short,  the  professional  beggar  has  studied  his 
part  like  a master  actor.  He  eyes  his  almoner 
through  and  through  while  repeating  his  pitiful 
story.  He  has  a story  to  suit  every  occasion.  To 
Mr.  Skinflint  he  tells  a tale  that  would  draw  tears 
from  a rock  : " Oh,  sir,  won’t  ye  ba  a helpin’  a 
poor  starvin’  man  with  a sick  wife  that  ba  a freezin’ 
and  a dyin’  ? ” To  Miss  Great  Heart  he  pleads  like 
a seraph  : ” And  it ’s  you  that  will  not  sa  a baby 


SCENE  AT  MRS.  o’LEARY’S  LODGING-HOUSE.  79 


dyia’ ! And  wa  can’t  get  no  coffin  for  the  darlin’ 
laatle  cratlier ! ” 

Why,  in  times  past  I have  had  the  eyes  cheated 
out  of  my  head  by  these  scamps  ! I have  given 
them  the  last  shirt  I had  for  the  Sabbath,  have 
taken  the  coat  from  my  back  and  given  it  to  them  ; 
then  at  last  found  myself  duped. 

The  following  is  of  actual  occurrence,  — a true 
scene  : — 

Let  us  enter  the  lodging-house  of  Mag  O’Leary. 
Here  many  of  these  characters  " hang  out.”  It  is 
situated  on  Cross  Street,  North  End. 

"Hello,  Mike  Haley!  Yer  just  up  from  Deer 
Island,”  said  Pat  Mooney.  " Yes ; and  yer  not 
long  up  yisself.”  " Faith  an’  did  n’t  he  git  fat  on 
the  mush  an’  salt  air?”  remarked  Jim  Blevins,  a 
big-bodied,  North-of-Ireland  Orangeman.  " Be 
jabers,  it ’s  better  nor  aitin’  the  city’s  soup  up  here.” 
" Is  Barney  Lynch  down  yet  ? ” asked  a rum-soaked 
old  codger.  "Didn’t  yer  see  him  yerself  afore 
yer  came  up,  last  Tuesday?”  "Were  yer  in  the 
scrub-gang,  Mike?”  "No,  I was  actin’  as  a ma- 
son’s dark”  (hod-carrier). 

" Yer  goin’  to  the  divil  entirely,  Mike,”  said  the 
husband  of  Mag  O’Leary. 

" Well,  Pat,  it’s  a good  man’s  fault  to  get  drunk 
once  in  a while.” 

"It’s  dry  yer  must  bo  now,  Mike,  after  yer  tin 


80 


BEGGARS  AXD  BUMMERS. 


days’  pledge,”  continued  Mag’s  husband.  "Yer 
might  till  the  can,  or  ax  a feller  if  he  had  a mouth 
on  him.  I had  poor  luck  since  yer  wint  away.” 
always  liked  you,  Pat,  an’  we’ll  have  a can 
of  stock  ale  from  Murphy’s  ; an’  I ’ll  sing  yer  a song 
^ whin  I come  back  that  ’ll  rouse  yer  courage  a little, 
mebbe.” 

While  Mike  is  out  for  the  beer,  let  us  take  a look 
around.  Of  all  the  streets  for  fifteen-cent  lodg- 
ings, Cross  Street  "takes  the  palm”;  of  all  the 
women  that  open  their  hospitable  doors  to  mid- 
night prowlers,  Mag  O’Leary  leads  the  van ; of 
all  the  beds  for  lodgers,  packed  like  sardines  in  a 
box,  hers  seemed  the  largest,  — lodgers  squeezed 
like  dates  in  a bag. 

Of  all  the  men  who  live  by  their  wits  ; of  all  who 
have  sworn  never  to  do  a day’s  work,  declaring 
that  the  world  owes  them  a living,  — now  drunk, 
now  sober,  now  down  at  the  Island,  now  in  jail, 
now  at  this  house  be^o^in^  for  food,  now  at  that 
house  begging  for  clothes,  — give  us  ^like  Haley, 
for  all  the  world.  " God  is  good,  and  the  divil  ain’t 
bad,”  was  his  password  on  all  occasions. 

Now  this  man,  Mike  Haley,  was  a character  in 
his  own  way.  Once  he  had  been  quite  respectable  ; 
had  a steady  job  at  the  Navy  Yard,  a good  wife, 
and  a comfortable  home.  Pie  took  to  drink,  how- 
ever, and,  coming  home  one  night  full  of  bad 


SCENE  AT  MRS.  O’LEARY'S  LODGING-HOUSE.  81 


whiskey,  he  kicked  his  wife  doAvn-stairs,  and  she 
died  from  the  efiects  of  the  fall.  Mike  Avas  ar- 
rested for  murder  and  sentenced  to  prison  for 
three  }"ears.  He  Avas  not  even  allowed  to  gaze 
upon  the  dead  features  of  his  Avife.  This  Avas  a 
sore  bloAv  to  him,  for  Mike  had  a tender  spot  in 
his  heart  Avithal.  Mike  came  out  of  the  jail  lu’oken 
down  in  spirits.  His  child,  a little  delicate  girl  of 
six  years,  had  died  shortly  after  its  mother.  The 
man  had  nothing  noAV  to  live  for.  His  ambition 
Avas  gone.  The  State  had  supported  him  noAv  for 
three  years.  During  this  time  he  had  done  very 
little  Avork,  feigning  sickness  every  now  and  then. 

It  Avas  the  evening  of  the  14th  of  August,  the 
eve*  of  the  festival  of  the  Assumption  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  To-morrow,  on  that  sacred  feast, 
Mike  Haley  Avas  to  be  released.  The  thoughts  of 
"ainino"  his  freedom  once  more  were  in  his  mind 

o o 

all  day  long.  Suddenly  he  bethought  him  of 
what  the  morroAV  was,  and,  kneeling  down  by  the 
little  iron  bed  in  his  cell,  he  took  from' his  neck  a 
cord  to  AAdiich  Avas  attached  a medal  of  the  Virgin, 
a gift  from  his  mother,  and  holding  it  before  him, 
he  prayed  fervently,—  for  ^like  AA^as  a faithful  Cath- 
olic. He  had  also  Avith  him  a pair  of  beads  and 
scapulars,  given  him  by  Father  McGlynn,  the 
Catholic  priest  who  attended  the  jail.  After  say- 
ing his  evening  devotions,  the  prisoner  fell  into  a 


82 


BEGGARS  AND  BUMMERS. 


reverie,  and  the  events  of  his  past  life  flitted 
across  his  mind.  Ai^ain  he  irnaijined  himself  in 
the  little  town  of  Bandon,  County  Cork.  Ilis 
mother’s  form  appeared  before  him  in  the  little 
rude  cabin  which  was  his  former  home.  He  heard 
her  sweet  voice  again  as  he  stood  on  the  quay  in 
Queenstov\^n  when  he  kissed  her  good-by  for  the 
last  time  and  received  her  admonitions  to  remain 
true  to  her  early  teachings  and  never  forsake  the 
old  faith.  All  his  life-doings  came  up  before  him, 
and  at  last  arrived  that  dreadful  scene  which 
had  blasted  his  life.  Alas ! had  he  come  to 
this?  His  feelings  overcame  him,  and  he  burst 
into  a flood  of  tears  such  as  he  had  not  shed  for 
years.  He,  a strong  man,  but  of  a sensitive  na- 
ture, wept  like  a child  at  the  recollection  of  what 
he  had  "one  through.  'VYhat  had  he  now  to  live 

O CD 

for?  Was  he  not  branded  with  the  mark  of  a 
felon  ? As  he  passed  through  the  streets  the  fin- 
ger of  scorn  would  be  pointed  at  him.  People 
would  remark,  ''There  goes  the  brute  who  murdered 
his  wife.” 

All  these  things  were  uppermost  in  his  mind, 
and  the  thoughts  sickened  him.  Disgusted  with 
his  life,  he  vowed  in  revenge  to  work  no  more, 
and  sealed  the  compact  by  kissing  the  medal  he 
held  in  his  hands. 

Oh,  how  well  had  he  kept  that  vow  I Four 


SCENE  AT  MRS  o’LEARY’S  LODGING-HOUSE.  83 


years  after  we  find  him  as  onr  sketch  opens ; but 
what  a contrast ! Then  he  was  a fine,  able-bodied 
man,  the  very  picture  of  health.  Now  gaze  upon 
his  rum-suffused  countenance,  his  bleared  eyes, 
and  ra2:2:ed  garments.  All  this  time  he  had  not 
worked  a day,  but  always  had  enough  to  eat  and 
drink,  and  a place  to  sleep  at  night.  He  lived  by 
his  wits.  He  was  a bum,  a beggar.  He  eked 
out  a comfortable  existence,  and,  as  he  often  re- 
marked himself,  got  along  better  than  most  men 
who  worked  from  morning  till  night. 

Mike  returned  in  a short  time  with  a flowing 
can  of  Murphy’s  ” family  destroyer.”  He  placed 
the  beer  on  a rickety  table,  and,  pulling  a chair 
over  near  it,  he  told  Pat  O’Leary  to  " dish  out  ” 
the  stuff  while  he  filled  his  pipe.  Mags  husband 
filled  a glass  and  drank  it,  saying,  with  a knowing 
wink  to  the  crowd,  " Pat,  be  good  to  yerself,  an’ 
yer  friends  ’ll  like  yer  the  better.”  Then,  as  a 
mark  of  respect  to  the  man  who  had  paid  for  the 
beer,  he  filled  the  goblet  brimful  and  offered  it  to 
Mike  Haley,  who  took  it  eagerly,  offering  as  a 
toast,  " Bad  luck  to  poverty,”  to  which  the  com- 
pany present  responded  a fervent  "Amen.” 

Mike  was  treated  to  a second  and  third  glass,  - 
and  after  the  lapse  of  a little  time  was  in  a mood 
for  singing.  After  considerable  pressing  and 
coaxing  by  those  present  he  gave  the  following 


84 


BEGGARS  AND  BUMMERS. 


song  in  a deep,  rich  brogue,  which,  considering 
his  recent  departure  from  the  "stone  palace,”  was 
quite  appropriate  : — 

DEER  ISLAND  DOWN  THE  BAY. 

It  was  on  one  lovely  night  in  March  I got  so  awful  tight, 
I took  a stroll  down  Portland  Street,  ’t  was  there  I had  a 
fight ; , 

When  two  policemen  came  along  they  had  a word  to 
say,— 

They  said  they ’d  send  me  over  to  Deer  Island,  down  the 
bay. 

They  marched  me  up  to  Station  Three;  ’t  was  there  I 
stayed  all  night  ; 

And  in  the  morn,  when  I awoke,  I was  not  quite  so  tight. 
I asked  the  captain  to  let  me  go,  as  I had  no  money  to 

pay; 

“ Oh,  yes  ! ” he  says;  “ I will  let  you  go  to  Deer  Island, 
down  the  bay.” 

It  was  on  the  first  of  April  I was  brought  before  the 
judge  ; 

They  put  me  in  the  prisoner’s  dock,  that  they  might  have 
their  grudge. 

The  clerk,  he  read  the  charge  to  me.  “ Kot  guilty,”  I did 
say  ; 

But  they  proved  to  send  me  over  to  Deer  Island,  down 
the  bay. 

The  officers  swore  they' had  seen  me  drunk  some  fifty 
times  and  more  ; 

And  the  judge,  he  thought  they  told  the  truth,  as  he 
viewed  my  carcass  o’er  ; 


SCENE  AT  MRS.  O’LEARY'S  LODGING-HOUSE.  85 


For  an  awful  pile  of  whiskey  I did  daily  stow  away  ; 

But  I guess  they  will  keep  me  sober  on  Deer  Island ^ 
down  the  bay. 

Deer  Island  is  a pretty  place  ; South  Boston  can’t  com- 
pare. 

The  judge,  be  thought  it  would  improve  my  health  to  give 
me  a passage  there  ; 

So  two  months  the  judge  he  gave  me,  and  I was  sent 
away 

In  the  steamer  “ Common  Drunkard,”  to  Deer  Island, 
down  the  bay. 

When  I arrived  on  this  beautiful  isle  they  marched  me 
to  the  house  ; 

They  shaved  my  hair  close  to  my  head,  but  never  found  a 
louse.i 

They  dumped  me  into  a bath-tub,  put  on  me  a suit  of 

sm ; 

For  that  is  the  way  they  use  them  all  on  Deer  Island j 
down  the  bay. 

Eight  hundred  drunkards,  bold  and  true,  down  on  this 
isle  do  stay. 

Working  for  this  good  old  State,  for  which  they  get  no 
pay. 

Brown  bread  and  mush  is  plenty  : they  have  it  every  day 

Down  in  the  House  of  Industry,  Deer  Island,  down  the 
bay. 

On  the  farm  and  in  the  coal  pile  the  boys  are  hard  at 
work, 

Making  shoes  and  cutting  wood,  while  the  Molls  they 
wash  our  shirts; 

But  we  think  we  can  all  stand  it  until  the  final  day,  — 

A few  months  wont  last  forever,  — on  Deer  Island,  down 
the  bay. 


86 


BEGGAKS  AND  BUjVEVIERS. 


Every  afternoon  I paraded,  with  my  hand-cart  in  my 
hand, 

Down  to  the  “ Common  Drunkard”;  ’twas  there  I had 
my  stand. 

The  fish  and  beef  I had  to  haul,  all  through  the  mud  and 
clay, 

Down  to  these  common  drunkards,  on  Deer  Island,  down 
the  bay. 

At  six  o’clock  we  all  turn  in,  at  five  we  all  turn  out. 

Then  take  our  buckets  in  our  hands, — what  is  in  them 
you  can’t  doubt. 

We  empty  them,  wash  ourselves,  and  then  we  march 
away. 

To  get  our  bread  and  coffee,  on  Deer  Island,  down  the 
bay. 

We  go  to  church  on  Sunday,  to  hear  the  word  of  God, 

Which  is  something  we  ain’t  used  to,  and  it  comes  al- 
mighty hard. 

They  think  they  can  convert  us,  — make  us  leave  our 
rummy  way; 

But  they’ll  find  themselves  mistaken,  on  Deer  Island, 
down  the  bay. 

There  are  deers  on  Boston  Common,  and  dears  on  Port- 
land Street. 

They  say  that  rum  is  so  very  dear  that  no  one  dares  to 
treat. 

I know  the  times  are  mighty  hard;  but  few  can  pay  their 
way; 

But  what  is  dearer  than  them  all,  is  Deer  Island,  down 
the  bay. 

JSfow  I’ve  arrived  in  Boston,  how  sober  I do  feel; 

’T  is  now  three  times  a day  I get  a good,  square,  hearty 
meal. 


SCENE  AT  MRS.  O’LEARY’S  LODGING-HOUSE.  87 

And  rum  and  whiskey  I leave  alone:  I find  it  does  not 
P‘^y; 

For  two  months  at  home  is  better  than  on  Deer  Island, 
down  the  bay. 

And  now  my  song  is  ended,  you  will  with  me  agree, 

That  we,  poor  common  drunkards,  should  at  once  be  all 
set  free. 

I ’ve  served  my  sentence  nobly  : I have  nothing  more  to 
say; 

So  I ’ll  tell  you  all  to  go  to  Hull  or  Deer  Island,  down 
the  bay. 

This  song  suited  the  company  and  the  occasion. 
These  men  gloried  in  their  own  shame.  They  had 
plenty  of  piety,  but  no  morality ; they  lived  by 
"hand-outs”  and  "grab-ins.”  Those  highest  in 
church  orders,  wearing  scapulars,  beads,  and 
crosses,  could  swear  the  most,  drink  the  most,  and 
steal  the  most,  becoming  the  heaviest  burdens, 
nuisances,  and  curses  to  society. 


CHAPTER  X. 


A DRINKING  SCENE  IN  MAG  O’lEARY’s.  EXPLOITS  OP 

BILLY  THE  KID.  RELIGIOUS  ROW.  — MIKE  HALEY 

FALLS  A MARTYR  TO  THE  “ OLD  FAITH.” 

When  the  song  was  ended  Mike  was  greeted 
with  cheers  of  applause,  and  everyone  wanted  to 
shake  hands  with  him.  He  bore  his  honors 
meekly,  however,  and  said  he  would  like  to  have 
his  "whistle  wet”  once  more.  Pat  O’Leary  then 
suggested  that  as  Mike  had  done  so  well,  some  one 
else  ought  to  treat,  and  perha[)s  Mike  would  sing 
another  song. 

" Where ’s  the  can,  Pat?”  asked  Barney  Lynch  ; 
"or  better  still,  give  me  the  bottle,  an’  we  ’ll  give 
Mike  a hot  noggin  o’  punch.” 

" Gimme  you  yet,  Barney,”  said  Mike,  as  the 
vision  of  a hot  whiskey  punch  arose  in  his  mind  : " I 
never  saw  yer  behind  the  bush  yet  when  a poor 
feller  needed  somethin’  to  warrum  his  heart.” 

" ’Pon  my  conscience,  yer  right,  Mike,”  inter- 
posed Mag’s  husband  ; " Barney ’s  not  a bad  feller 
himself  in  the  matter  of  a drop  o’  drink.” 

As  Barney  departed,  a young  fellow  bounded 
into  the  room  with  a good-sized  canvas  bag,  which 


EXPLOITS  OF  BILLY  THE  KID. 


89 


he  threw  under  the  table,  winking  at  Mag  at  the 
same  time. 

The  new-comer  was  a pretty  good-looking  fel- 
low, and  wore  a dark  suit  of  clothes,  brown  over- 
alls pulled  over  the  pantaloons,  an  overcoat  of  a 
brown  material,  and  a slouch  hat.  From  his 
countenance  one  could  see  that  he  was  of  Irish 
descent. 

Billy  Moriarty,  for  such  was  his  name,  or  " Billy 
the  Kid,”  as  familiarly  called,  was  young  in  years 
but  old  in  sin.  He  was  now  about  seventeen, 
but  had  run  away  from  home  when  quite  young, 
and,  having  a propensity  for  stealing,  he  was  fast 
initiated  in  the  li^ht-fin«:ered  art  after  a short 
sojourn  in  the  dives  of  the  North  End.  He  made 
his  living  by  sneak-thieving,  and  although  he  had 
done  service  at  both  the  Reform  School,  from  which 
he  escaped,  and  the  State  Prison,  he  always  went 
back  to  his  old  trade.  He  often  boasted  of  hav- 
ing received  his  first  lesson  in  picking  pockets  at 
the  Reform  School.  At  the  State  Prison  he 
formed  the  acquaintance  of  older  criminals,  and 
after  serving  his  last  sentence  of  six  months  at 
the, House  of  Correction,  he  became  shrewder,  and 
was  sharper  in  escaping  detection. 

"Well,  Billy  the  Kid,  how  does  the  world  use 
you  ? ” asked  Pat,  when  the  young  fellow  had  seated 
himself  after  warming  his  hands  at  the  fire,  for  it 
was  a bitter  cold  night  without. 


90  A DRINKING  SCENE  IN  MAG  o’lEARY’s. 

''  Oh,  first  class,  Paddy,”  said  the  Kid : " I 
' caught  on  ’ to  a ' square  ’ to-night.  Come  near 
being  nabl)ed  by  a cop,  though,  near  the  Massa- 
chusetts House,  but  I dodged  into  Reilly’s  Alley, 
till  I saw  a chance  to  skip  ; but  I want  your  ear 
for  a minute.” 

Pat  opened  the  door  to  a back  room,  and  the 
Kid  followed  and  closed  the  door. 

" Hush  ! ” said  he  to  Pat,  when  they  were  in- 
side. "I 'collared’  a pair  of  pullets  up  near  the 
Blackstone  Market,  an’  if  yer  think  the  old  codger 
— I mean  that  bloody  Orangeman  — would  n’t 
give  things  away,  we  might  have  a ' lay-out  ’ 
to-nis:ht.” 

" But  iMag  ’ll  raise  the  divil : its  Friday,  yer 
know,”  said  Pat.  " If  yer  had  brought  fish  or 
eggs,  now,  it  would  suit  her.” 

" Oh,  we  ’ll  get  over  that  easy  enough.  I ’ll 
give  her  one  for  herself,  and  that  ’ll  pay  my  lodg- 
ing for  to-night ; and  she  w’on’t  kick  on  the  Friday 
business,  you  bet.” 

The  two  men  came  back  into  the  kitchen,  and 
the  Kid,  pulling  out  the  bag  from  under  the 
table,  produced  a pair  of  nice  fat  chickens. 

" O yer  little  vagabond ! AVhere  did  yer  get 
such  a foine  pair  of  birds  ? ” asked  Mag,  as  she  cast 
a covetous  glance  at  the  fowl  lying  on  the  table. 

"That’s  all  right,  old  woman,”  said  the  Kid. 


EXPLOITS  OF  BILLY  THE  KID. 


91 


]\Ir.  Benson  at  the  market  gave  them  to  me  for 
ofoino;  an  errand  for  him.” 

0 o 

Barney  returned  in  a little  while,  and  soon  each 
one  had  a steaming  glass  of  potheen,  including 
Mag,  who  remarked,  " Well,  men,  my  respects  ter 
ye.  If  some  one  did  n’t  think  of  me,  that  big 
bluster  there  niver  would.  I might  sit  here  till 
doomsday  an’  he  would  never  ax  to  moisten  a 
body’s  lips.” 

This  fling  aroused  her  husband,  and  he  retorted, 
" Get  out,  yer  ould  fat  cook,  }^er.  T’  other  morn- 
in’  I was  sick  as  a dog,  an’  yer  knew  it ; and  yer 
tight  heart  would  n’t  let  yer  give  a feller  nine- 
pence  for  an  ' eye  opener.’  ” 

This  little  altercation  between  man  and  wife 
caused  the  others,  who  were  chatting  in  groups  of 
two  and  three,  to  stop  and  listen.  Mag  did  not 
answer  the  husband  back  again,  for  she  knew  that 
with  what  liquor  he  had  in  he  would,  if  she 
roused  his  ire,  thrash  her  when  the  lodgers  had 
gone  to  bed. 

Fully  ten  minutes  elapsed  before  any  one  ven- 
tured to  speak,  when  Mike,  seeing  things  had 
calmed  a little,  ventured  : — 

" \Vhat  is  this,  b’ys?  A Quaker  meetin’?  AYhy 
ain’t  yer  sayin’  somethin’?  If  Pat  has  no  objection, 

1 ’ll  give  ye  a song,  though  I ’m  not  feelin’  well 
meself;  still,  God  is  good  an’  the  divil  ain’t  bad.” 


92  A DRINKING  SCENE  IN  MAG  O’LEARY’S. 


” No,  no  ; I wont  hinder,  Mike.  Go  ahead.” 
^'Well,  I would  like  to  ax  the  company  what  ’ll 
yez  have,  b’ys?  'Father  Tom  O’Neil  ’ or  ' Don- 
nyhrook  Fair,’  or  what?  ” 

Then  arose  a shout,  some  hollering  the  name  of 
this  80112:  and  that  song,  until  the  noise  was  almost 
deafening. 

Pat  commanded  silence,  saying,  — 

" Give  us  anything  yer  feel  like,  Mike,  — any- 
thing, so  long  as  it’s  cheerful.” 

Mike  cleared  his  thro;it,  and,  after  saying  " he 
wanted  no  noise,”  sang,  with  a voice  somewhat 
unsteady  from  too  much  drink,  the  following ; — 

finnigan’s  wake. 

Tim  Finnigan  lived  in  Walker  Street,  — 

An  Irish  gentleman,  mighty  odd; 

He ’d  a beautiful  brogue,  so  righ  and  sweet, 

And  to  rise  in  the  world  he  carried  the  hod. 

But  you  see  he ’d  a sort  of  a tippling  way,  — 

With  the  love  for  the  liquor  poor  Tim  was  born,  — 

And  to  help  him  thro’  his  work  each  day 
He ’d  a drop  of  the  creature  every  morn. 

Chorus:  Whack,  hurrah!  dance  to  your  partner, 
Welt  the  flure;  your  trotters  shake; 

Is  n’t  it  the  truth  I Ve  told  ye? 

Lots  of  fun  at  Fiunigau’s  wake. 

One  morning  Tim  was  rather  full; 

His  head  felt  heavy,  which  made  him  shake; 

He  fell  from  the  ladder  and  broke  his  skull; 

So  they  carried  him  home,  his  corpse  to  wake. 


EXPLOITS  OF  BILLY  THE  KID. 


93 


They  rolled  him  up  in  a nice  clean  sheet, 

And  laid  him  out  upon  the  bed, 

With  fourteen  candles  round  his  feet, 

And  a couple  dozen  around  his  head. 

Chorus:  Whack,  hurrah  I etc. 

His  friends  assembled  at  his  wake; 

Missus  Finnigan  called  out  for  the  lunch. 

First  they  laid  in  tay  and  cake, 

Then  pipes  and  tobacky  and  whiskey  punch. 
Miss  Biddy  O’Neil  began  to  cry,  — 

Such  a purty  corpse  did  ever  you  see? 

Arrah,  Tim,  avourneen,  an’  why  did  you  die? 

Och,  none  of  your  gab,  sez  Judy  Magee. 

Chorus:  Whack,  hurrah!  etc. 

Then  Peggy  O’Connor  took  up  the  job,  — 

Arrah,  Biddy,  says  she,  ye  ’re  wrong,  I ’m  sure; 
But  Judy  then  gave  her  a belt  on  the  gob,  — 

It  left  her  sprawling  on  the  flure. 

Each  side  in  war  did  soon  engage,  — 

’T  was  woman  to  woman,  and  man  to  man; 
Shillelah  law  was  all  the  rage, 

And  a bloody  ruction  soon  began. 

Chorus:  Whack,  hurrah!  etc. 

Mickey  Mulvany  raised  his  head. 

When  a gallon  of  whiskey  flew  at  him; 

It  missed  him,  and,  hopping  on  the  bed. 

The  liquor  scattered  over  Tim. 

Bedad!  he  revives!  see  how  he  raises! 

And  Timothy,  jumping  from  the  bed. 

Cries,  while  he  lathered  around  like  blazes. 

Bad  luck  to  your  souls:  d’  ye  think  I ’m  dead? 
Chorus:  Whack,  hurrah!  etc. 


94  A DRIXKIXG  SCENE  IN  :SIAG  O’lEAKY’S. 

Then  came  a fight  for  the  "Old  Faith,”  the  war 
of  the  scapulars.  The  more  drunk  the  more 
pious.  That  hated  Orangeman  became  a mark  of 
special  vengeance : he  was  a heretic.  Heretics 
don’t  wear  scapulars,  say  the  rosary,  hear  mass, 
cross  themselves  with  holy  water,  and  confess 
their  sins.  They  ought  not  to  stop,  to  stay,  to 
breathe, to  live,  in  the  pious  house  of  Mag  O’Leary, 

AVas  she  not  a devout  Catholic?  There  were 
the  pictures  on  the  walls ; there  was  a crucifix 
at  the  head  of  the  bed,  her  bottle  of  holy  water 
on  the  bureau,  and  a pair  of  rosary  beads  she 
alwn^s  carried  with  her. 

Fired  with  whiskey,  it  needed  but  a spark  to 
kindle  a terrible  conflagration.  One  word  brought 
on  another,  and  the  fight  commenced. 

" T ’m  as  good  as  the  rest  of  ye ; an’  I ’ll  git 
to  hivin  as  soon  as  any  of  ye,”  said  Jim  Blevins. 

That  started  the  row.  The  idea  of  Jim  Blev- 
ins, an  Orangeman,  getting  to  heaven  without  the 
help  of  the  Holy  Church.  Monstrous  ! 

" Yer  lie,  yer  haythin.  M^ithout  the  mark  of 
holy  baptism  on  ye,  }^er  ’ll  go  with  the  rest  of  yer 
tribe  whin  yer  die,  — to  the  divil  an’  his  imps,” 
replied  Mike  Haley,  rising  to  the  floor. 

This  fling  at  his  people  also  brought  the  Orange- 
man to  his  feet  He  made  a lurch  at  Haley,  as  if 
to  strike.  This  roused  the  whole  house,  every 


EXPLOITS  OF  BILLY  THE  KID. 


95 


jian  seizing  a weapon, — one  the  poker,  one  a 
chair,  another  a stick  of  wood ; and  Mag  made  to 
save  the  lamp.  All  made  a rush  for  Blevins, 
who  retreated  into  a corner. 

At  this  moment  a loud  knock  was  heard  on  the 
door.  "Hush,”  said  Mag:  "it ’s  th’  peelers,”  as 
she  rose  to  open. 

"Oh,  God  bless  yer  I an’  is  this  you,  Father 
Keenan?”  was  Mag’s  exclamation.  "Come  in, 
yer  Riverence,  an’  shtop  th’  fight,  or  there  ’ll  be 
murder  alive.” 

Father  Keenan,  the  fallen  priest,  himself  intoxi- 
cated, entered,  and  was  respectfully  saluted  by  all 
present,  Avith  the  exception  of  the  Orangeman, 
who  stood  with  glaring  eyes  face  to  face  Avith 
Mike  Haley. 

"AYhat’s  the  matter  (hie),  boys?  (hie),”  asked 
the  priest,  after  seating  himself,  Avith  flag’s  assist- 
ance. 

" This  Friday  dog  has  abused  the  church ! ” 
"He ’s  slandered  the  holy  priesthood  ! ” " He  says 
a priest  can’t  put  a man  into  heaven  ! ” " The 

hay  thin  pup  says  he  is  as  good  as  the  rist  of  us.” 
" He  said,  ' To  the  divil  Avith  the  pope  ! ’ ” Avere 
the  cries  from  half  a dozen  voices  at  once,  in 
ansAver  to  the  priest. 

"I  didn’t  say  that,”  said  Jim  Blevins,  turning 
with  a bow  toAvards  the  clergyman.  ■ 


96  A DPJNKING  SCENE  IN  MAG  O’LEARY’S. 


"Yerdid,”  shouted  Mike  Haley,  *'yer  infidel 
pig ! ” 

I did  n’t ! ” retorted  Jim. 

" Yer  lie,  yer  did  ! ” 

” Yer  lie,  I did  n’t ! ” 

" Yes,  he  did  ! ” " Yes,  he  did  ! ” "Down  with 

him!”  "At  him,  Mike,  we’ll  help  yer.”  "Kill 
the  heretic  I ” " Away  with  him  I ” And  the 

fight  commenced  anew.  Missiles  began  to  fly  at 
the  Orangeman.  Now  a stick  of  wood  he  dodi^es  ; 
now  a piece  of  coal,  which  struck  him  square  in 
the  face. 

As  Mike  Haley  approaches  to  strike  him,  cry- 
ing, " Ye  imp  of  hell,  I ’ll  fix  yer,”  Jim  parries  the 
blow,  and  with  his  other  brawny  arm  keeps  those 
nearest  him  at'bay. 

" How  dare  ye  attack  the  priest  ? ” said  Mike 
Haley,  as  he  struck  at  him  again,  whiskey  giving 
him  coiu'age.  " An’  there ’s  another  for  the  church, 
yer  thief  of  the  wurrold  I ” 

The  hurley  Orangeman,  as  an  enraged  bull  be- 
fore a red  flag,  the  blood  of  two  hundred  years  of 
strife  boiling  in  his  veins,  from  the  battle  of  the 
Boyne,  with  eyes  glaring  fire,  lij^s  compressed, 
himself  filled  with  liquor,  waiting  for  the  coming 
blow  that  carried  with  it  "priest,”  "thief,”  and 
"church,'’  drew  back  as  Haley  struck  ; then,  with 
clinched  fist,  every  nerve  in  his  body  quivering 


EXPLOITS  OF  BILLY  THE  KID. 


97 


with  rnge,  muttering,  "Priest  or  no  priest,  church 
or  no  church,  heke  goes  ! ” 

And  with  all  the  strength  of  his  giant  frame 
centred  in  that  arm,  he  deals  one  sledge  hammer 
blow,  that  fells  Mike  Haley  to  the  floor,  and  there 
he  lies  prostrate,  bleeding,  senseless,  nigh  unto 
death. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


DYING  MOMENTS  OF  MIKE  HALEY. FATHER  KEENAN  AD- 
MINISTERS EXTREME  UNCTION.  WIFE’s  WEDDING- 

RING.  HIS  OLD  CHUM  BARNEY  IN  TEARS. 

Mike  Haley  was  carried  to  an  adjoining  room  by 
the  husband  of  Mag  O’Leary  and  two  of  the 
lodgers.  Jim  Blevins  had  struck  him  a terrilile 
blow  on  the  left  side  of  his  head,  near  the  temple, 
and  one  of  his  eyes  was  nearly  driven  from  the 
socket.  It  was  an  awful  si^ht ! He  was  bleeding 
profusely  and  still  remained  unconscious. 

The  occurrence  had  a soberini?  elfect  on  all 
present;  even  the  priest,  accustomed  as  he  had 
been  to  meeting  death  in  every  form,  was  stunned 
for  the  moment ; but,  rising  as  best  he  could,  he 
went  to  Mike’s  bedside,  and  sitting  down,  he 
offered  up  a silent  prayer,  and  commenced  to  chafe 
the  wounded  man’s  hands.  The  others  stood  by 
motionless,  some  on  their  knees,  waiting  for  any 
little  sis^n  of  returnino:  consciousness. 

At  length  Mike  opened  his  eyes  and  closed  them 
again.  All  jiresent  could  see  that  the  man  had 
but  a few  hours  to  live.  The  Orangeman’s  bloAV 
had  been  a fatal  one.  The  priest  .called  to  Mag 


EXTREME  UNCTION  ADMINISTERED. 


99 


O’Leary,  who  had  remained  terrified  in  the  kitchen, 
and  she  came  to  the  door,  sobbing  as  though  her 
heart  would  break. 

" Bring  me  the  holy  water,  my  dear  child,”  said 
Father  Keenan,  "and  a blessed  candle.” 

Mag  hastened  to  obey  his  instructions.  The 
priest,  now  completely  sobered  off,  turned  towards 
the  dying  man  and,  bending  down  his  head  on  the 
coverlet,  murmured,  "Oh,  that  our  holy  mother 
the  church  had  not  placed  her  ban  upon  me ! 
Oh,  that  I could  hear  this  unfortunate  man’s  con- 
fession, and  give  him  absolution  for  all  his  sins ! 
Would  that  my  hands  were  not  bound  by  the 
church,  that  I might  anoint  with  the  chrism  and 
the  holy  oils  his  eyes,  his  ears,  his  mouth,  and 
hands,  and  all  his  senses,  for  they  have  grievously 
sinned  ! Oh,  that  I might  kneel  before  him  and 
administer  to  him  the  last  rites  of  the  church  he 
has  loved  so  well,  and  served,  in  form  at  least,  so 
faithfully  ! that  I might  give  him  the  holy  sacra- 
ment, of  extreme  unction  ! ” 

Pat  O’Leary,  in  the  mean  time,  sent  a lodger  for 
the  parish  priest,  but  he  was  out.  Mike  Haley 
takes  a turn  for  the  worse.  Father  Keenan, 
silenced  as  he  was,  and  fearful  for  the  dying  man’s 
salvation,  determines,  at  all  hazards,  to  hear  his 
confession  and  anohit  him  with  the  chrism  and  the 
holy  oils.  He  has  with  him  an  old,  almost  worn- 


100  DYING  MOMENTS  OF  MIKE  HALEY. 

out,  purple  " stole,”  with  little  white  crosses  on  the 
ends.  The  dying  man  is  sinking  rapidly.  If  the 
priest  who  has  been  sent  for  does  not  soon  arrive, 
all  will  be  over.  There  is  a stru^y^ile  i?oin<2:  on  in 
Father  Keenan’s  breast.  " Will  I commit  a sac- 
rilege,” he  says  to  himself,  ” if  I give  this  man 
the  last  rites  of  our  holy  church,  or  will  I commit 
a greater  one  by  letting  him  die  without  them?” 

While  he  is  thinking  on  these  things  Mike  slowly 
opens  his  eyes  and  faintly  motions  for  the  priest  to 
hearken  to  his  feeble  voice.  The  priest  bends  his 
ear  close  to  the  man’s  lips,  and  in  accents  faint 
comes,  ” I want  to  confess.”  Father  Keenan  hesi- 
tates no  lon<2:er.  ” You  folks  will  have  to  2:0  into 
the  other  room,”  he  says,  "for  1 am  going  to  hear 
this  man’s  confession.” 

In  an  instant  all  have  left  the  room,  Mag 
O’Leary  being  the  last  to  go ; and  she  closes  the 
door  after  her  and  locks  it. 

The  priest  then  takes  out  his  "stole,”  and  kiss- 
ing it  places  it  around  his  shoulders,  the  two  ends 
falling  in  front.  He  then  bends  close  down  to 
Mike’s  lips  and  listens  to  the  sins  of  a lifetime, 
rapidly  revealed,  and  hurried  over.  Then  he  tells 
him  to  make  a hearty  act  of  contrition,  and  raising 
his  hands  he  pronounces  the  sacred  words  of 
absolution. 

The  confession  being  over,  the  priest  is  ready  to 


EXTREME  UNCTION  ADMINISTERED.  101 


anoint  him.  He  knocks  at  the  door,  as  a signal 
for  those  without  to  enter.  lie  then  proceeds  to 
anoint  with  the  holy  oils  and  chrism  the  different 
senses, — the  eyes,  the  ears,  mouth,  hands, — saying 
at  each  one  a short  prayer  in  Latin.  Then  he  re- 
cites in  English  the  litany  for  the  dying,  and  those 
present  give  the  responses  : — 

“ From  eternal  death,” 

O Lord,  deliver  him.” 

“ From  the  flames  of  hell,” 

“ O Lord,  deliver  him.” 

“ From  the  power  of  the  devil,” 

“ O Lord,  dehver  him.” 

And  so  on.  When  this  prayer  is  finished,  the 
dying  man  motions  for  a drink,  and  the  priest 
tells  Mag  to  give  him  a little  whiskey  and  water. 
This  seems  to  revive  him  a great  deal,  and  he  calls 
on  Barney  Lynch,  his  old  chum,  to  come  to  his 
bedside. 

” Barney,  ould  boy,”  said  Mike,  speaking  with 
efibrt,  and  reaching  out  his  hand,  ” the  end  has 
come  at  last.” 

" Oc/i,  nonsense,  man!  yer ’ll  be  . up  an  out 
th’morra.  Cheer  up,  man  dear  I an’  don’t  feel  so 
down-hearted,”  replied  Barney,  sitting  near  the 
bed,  and  taking  his  hand. 

"No,  I dl  niver  rise  agin.  I know  my  time 
has  come.  God’s  holy  will  be  done ! Barney, 


102  DYING  MOMENTS  OF  MIKE  HALEY. 

we  Ve  been  chums  together  for  a lon(j  time. 
We ’ve  been  on  the  road  together.  Together 
we’ve  suffered, — aye,  an’ almost  starved  some- 
times ; but  God  was  good.  An’  yer  know  that 
half  of  what  was  mine  was  yours,  an’  — ” 

" Oh,  don’t,  Mike  ! it ’s  killin’  me  to  see  yer 
there,”  broke  in  Barney,  as  he  wiped  the  blood- 
sbdns  from  Mike’s  forehead  ; " it ’s  you  that  did  n’t 
have  the  mean  ways  about  yer.  Many ’s  the  time 
I ’ve  seen  yer  give  the  bread  out  av  yer  own 
mouth  to  some  one  worse  off  nor  yourself.  Och 
hone!  It’s  no  one  in  this  worruld  will  miss  yer  but 
me,  yer  good,  true-hearted  sowl,  yer.” 

"Ah!  it’s  a cowld  worruld  though  I ’m  lavin’, 
Barney ; an’  we ’ve  had  our  own  share  of  all  its 
troubles,”  bursting  into  sobs  and  groans. 

"Yes,  an’  more  too,  Mike  ; but  yer  were  always 
so  liMit-hearted.  Yer  voice  was  enousch  to  raise  a 
man  up  that  was  cast  down,  an’  make  him  forgit 
his  trouble.  Yer  always  had  a pleasant  word  for 
every  one,  and  a bit  av  a joke  an’  a song.  Oh, 
but  it  was  to  be,  I suppose,  that  this  villain  should 
cross  yer  path  this  night  I Push  over  a little, 
darlin’,  till  I fix  the  pillows  so  yer  head  will  be 
aisy.  There,  now,  lie  back  an  thry  to  feel  at  rist.’ 
"Barney,”  said  Mike  faintly,  as  Mag  entered  the 
room,  "get  the  scissors  an’  cut  this  bag  from  my 
scapulars.” 


EXTREME  UNCTION  ADMINISTERED.  103 


Barney  did  so,  and  Mike,  taking  the  bag  from 
him,  opened  it  and  disclosed  to  view  a plain  gold 
ring,  very  much  worn.  It  was  his  wife’s  wedding- 
ring. 

Hannah  Haley  wore  this  ring  constantly  in 
reverence  for  the  holy  sacrament  of  matrimony. 
She  was  a firm  believer  in  the  old  Irish  supersti- 
tion that,  if  she  was  to  take  it  off  after  the  priest 
blessed  it  and  placed  it  on  her  finger,  some  bad 
luck  would  happen  to  her. 

On  the  day  which  brought  her  death,  while  sit- 
ting in  the  rocking-chair,  the  child  playing  near, 
exhausted  by  the  morning’s  work,  she  fell  asleep. 
The  child  sportively  took  the  ring  from  her  finger. 
That  night  Mike  came  home  drunk.  The  reader 
knows  the  rest.  On  her  dying  bed  she  bitterly 
regretted  her  carelessness,  ascribing  to  the  removal 
of  the  rins:  her  terrible  death  at  the  hands  of  her 
husband. 

Mike  said,  ” Yer  know,  Mag,  that  Hannah  wore 
this  ring  Sunday  and  every  day.” 

” ’Deed  she  did,  Mike.  Heaven  grant  her  rest 
this  night ! ” 

"She  wore  it  even  at  the  wash-tub,  doino:  out- 
side  work,  scrubbing,  and  taking  in  washing,  as 
well  as  her  own,  for  she  wished  to  save  enough 
to  buy,  poor  thing,  a little  home  we  could  call 
ours.  An’  saints  in  heaven  I how  good  she  was  1 


104 


DYING  MOMENTS  OF  MIKE  HALEY. 


Oh,  how  kind  and  forgiviii’  I ” Here  his  voice 
choked,  and  he  kissed  the  ring  passionately. 

He  commenced  again,  feebly : " Many ’s  the 
time,  when  hard  up,  I have  been  sorely  tempted 
to  pawn  it  to  get  a glass  or  a bite  to  eat ; but 
yer  know,  Barney,  I would  starve  to  death  before 
I would  part  with  it.”  "Thrue  for  yer,  Mike,  yer 
would  rather  lose  yer  life  afore  yer  would  part 
with  it.”  "She  sent  it  to  me  in  the  jail,  with  a 
lock  of  her  hair,  by  Father  Keenan.  He  carried 
her  dying  message  to  me  also.  She  said  that, 
dying,  she  forgave  me.”  "Yes,  she  did,  from  her 
heart  out,”  said  Mag,  as  she  stroked  the  hair  back 
from  his  forehead.  " O Mag,  the  agony  of  that  mo- 
ment ! My  wife  dying  with  not  a sowl  near  her  but 
strangers  ! An’  even  in  her  last  words,  taken  by 
the  otiScers  of  the  law,  she  took  all  the  blame 
upon  herself.” 

" Mag,  you’ve  been  a good  friend  to  me,”  said 
Mike,  recovering  a little;  "many’s  the  night 
you’ve  given  me  a bite  to  eat  an’  a bed  to  lay  on 
whin  no  one  else  would,  an’  I had  n’t  a red  in  my 
pocket,  Mag.  You  ’re  from  me  own  place  too  at 
home.  Oh,  if  I could  see  my  sweet  native  place 
of  Bandon  once  more  before  I die ! An’  yer 
knew  me  father  an’  me  mother ; yer  know  how  I 
was  brought  up.  God  be  good  to  thim ! They 
niver  dhramed  I ’d  come  to  this  bad  end.” 


EXTREME  UNCTION  ADMINISTERED.  105 


Then  Mag  O’Leary,  bursting  into  fits  of  de- 
spair, coniinenced  to  ring  her  hands  and  tear  her 
hair,  crying,  ” O Mike  dear,  an’  darlin’,  don’t 
yer  lave  us  ! No  more  yer  swate  voice  we’ll  hear 
sim^in’  the  «rood  ould  souses  of  Ireland.  O alan^ 
na  (darling) , don’t  yer  lave  us  ! don’t  yer  lave  us  I 

0 sweet  Virgin  Mary,  spare  him  ! Spare  him  this 
blissid  an’  holy  night,  an’  raise  him  up  from  this 
bed  of  suffering  and  death.  Oh,  wurrer  ! wurrer  I 
What  '11  we  do  at  all  at  all  ? ” 

jNIike  sought  to  comfort  her  as  she  swayed  back 
and  forth  in  her  agony  of  grief  and  sorrow. 

" It ’s  no  use,  Masr.  Don’t  feel  so  bad  avourneen, 
I’m  gettin’  weaker  an’  weaker  ivery  minute.  Be- 
fore th’  morrow’s  sun  is  risen  I ’ll  see  my  Hannah 
an’  my  little  Mamie.  Mag,  a better  woman  than 
Hannah  niver  drew  breath.”  "Faith  an’  she  was. 
But  yer  hurtin’  yerself  sp’akin’,”  said  Mag.  "Oh 
th’  villain  that  I was  ! I see  all  plain  now.  This 
is  her  weddin’-rino;.”  And  in  lower  accents  to 
j\Iag,  "^lany ’s  the  time,”  kissing  it  over  and  over 
again,  " many ’s  the  time  have  I come  near  partin’ 
with  it,  but,  thanks  be  to  God  ! I have  kept  it  safe, 

1 have,  and  I have  it  still,”  sighing  and  groaning. 

"Yes,  Mike,  yer  were  thrue  to  her,  except 

when  the  drink  got  the  better  of  yer ; but  try  to 
be  quiet,  an’  sleep  a little.” 

" Ah,  Mag  I when  I sleep  I ’ll  niver  wake  a’gin. 


106  DYING  MOMENTS  OF  MIKE  HALEY. 

An’  I must  aise  me  mind  while  th’  little  time  is 
left  me.  God  be  with  th’  day  1 placed  this  ring 
on  her  finger  in  ould  St.  Mary’s  Church  ! Father 
Fulmer,  God  rest  his  sowl  I was  the  one  who 
married  us.  An’  whin  we  was  havin’,  says  he, 
*Mike,  be  good  to  Hannah,  for  she  is  a true  and 
noble  woman.’  O Mag ! if  I could  live  me  life 
over  again  ” (gasping  and  sobbing)  " with  — 
with  — with  — Hannah  an’ — an’  — little  Mamie,  in 
our  little  home  once  more,  an’  — ” But  the  thou«:ht 
of  such  happiness  was  too  much  for  him,  and  he 
sank  back  exhausted  upon  the  pillow. 

Mag  took  the  cup  containing  whiskey  and  water 
from  a chair  near  the  bedside,  and  taking  the 
spoon,  moistened  jMike’s  lips  three  or  four  times. 
Again  he  revived,  and  after  Mag  had  propped  up 
his  head  with  pillows,  she  wiped  the  blood-stains 
from  his  forehead  and  cheeks,  for  he  was  bleeding 
fast,  and  becoming  fainter  and  fainter  as  the  mo- 
ments passed.  All  these  little  attentions  were  as 
angel  mercies  to  the  dying  man,  to  this  poor,  for- 
lorn world’s  outcast.  He  appreciated  them  with 
all  the  gratitude  of  his  youth  and  better  nature, 
before  rum  had  made  him  a fiend. 

Mooney  and  Billy  the  Kid  were  not  wanting  in 
their  sympathies.  They  made  every  effort  to  save 
his  life.  They  hurried  to  the  apothecary’s,  and 
for  the  doctor ; but  dying  confession  and  extreme 


EXTREME  UNCTION  ADMINISTERED.  107 

unction  must  take  precedence  to  all  earthly  phy- 
sicians. These  tender,  heart-feeling  ministrations 
from  his  old  chums,  in  that  dark  room,  lighted 
only  by  the  flickering  ray  of  a single  tallow  candle, 
unused  as  he  had  been  to  such  kindnesses,  were 
to  him  as  the  revelations  of  a new  heaven  just 
opening  to  his  view. 

Revived  by  the  liquor,  the  wounded  man  made 
signs  to  Father  Keenan,  who  was  standing  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  " Father,  here  is  the  ring  you 
brought  to  me  in  the  jail  from  my  dyin’  wife, 
Hannah,  yer  know.” 

•'Yes,  my  dear  child;  but  you  must  not  be 
speaking  too  much : it  will  worry  you,”  said  the 
priest,  touching  the  wound  on  Mike’s  forehead 
with  his  consecrated  stole  to  relieve  the  pain. 

"I  must  speak.  Father : with  this  blood  my  life 
is  flowin'  fast.” 

" Yer  too  late,  doctor,”  said  Billy  the  Kid  as  the 
doctor  entered ; and  sure  enough  the  wound  was 
declared  mortal ; and  his  assailant,  Jim  Blevins, 
had  escaped. 

"An’  it’s  Jim  Blevins  what  has  done  it,”  cried 
the  dying  man  ; "an’  may  the  saints  and  the  Blissid 
Vargin  have  marcy  on  his  soul  I I forgive  him 
all.”  This  seemed  his  dying  gasp. 

Father  Keenan,  seeing  the  turn  things  had 
taken,  bade  all  in  the  room  to  kneel  down,  and 


108  DYING  MOMENTS  OF  MIKE  HALEY. 

commenced  again  the  prayers  for  the  dying,  while 
Mag  O’Leary  lighted  the  blessed  candle,  and 
placed  it  in  the  dying  man’s  hands.  She  then 
went  to  the  bureau  drawer  and  took  from  it  her 
husband’s  habit  (shroud) , which  had  been  conse- 
crated and  blessed,  and  placed  Mike  Haley’s  right 
arm  through  the  sleeve,  in  order  that  he  might 
gain  the  plenary  indulgence  granted  to  those  in 
their  last  agony,  and  placed  a crucifix  on  his 
breast,  after  holding  it  to  his  lips  to  kiss. 

In  a short  while  the  dying  man  began  to  breathe 
heavily,  to  writhe  and  shake  violently,  showing 
signs  of  dissolution.  The  blessed  candle  came 
near  toppling  over,  but  Barney  Lynch,  faithful  to 
the  last,  caught  it,  and,  placing  it  again  in  poor 
Mike’s  hand,  went  down  on  his  knees,  and  held  it 
there  with  his  own  ; and,  although  the  violent  shak- 
ing of  the  dying  man  caused  the  hot  wax  to  run 
down  upon  Barney’s  arm  and  hand,  still  he  bore 
the  pain  heroically,  and  while  the  tears  streamed 
down  his  cheeks  averted  his  head,  that  he  might 
not  witness  the  torture  and  anguish  of  the  depart- 
ing soul. 

When  Father  Keenan  saw  that  he  was  going,  he 
seized  a crucifix,  and  placing  it  before  the  dying 
man’s  eyes,  bade  him  kiss  it,  and  steadfastly  look 
upon  it  as  he  breathed  his  last. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


MIKE  Haley’s  wake.  — lamentations  of  mag  o’leary. 

ROSARY,  LITANY,  WHISKEY,  AND  TOBACCO. THREE 

NIGHTS  IN  A WAKE  HOUSE. 

Mike  Haley  was  dead.  As  he  had  predicted,  he 
died  before  the  sun  had  risen.  He  was  '^murdered 
for  the  ' old  faith.’  ” The  next  thing  to  be  done  was 
to  give  him  a decent  wake  and  Christian  burial  in 
consecrated  ground. 

It  was  decided  that  he  should  be  buried  by  the 
side  of  his  wife  in  Mount  Calvary  Cemetery. 
Mike  had  bought  a grave  there  some  twelve  years 
before,  at  the  time  of  his  first  child’s  death.  He 
used  often  to  jokingly  refer  to  his  owning  real 
estate,  of  which  he  held  the  deed,  and  when  ques- 
tioned as  to  where  it  was  he  would  say,  with  a 
merry  twinkle  of  the  eye,  " Six  feet  of  earth  in 
Mount  Calvary  Cemetery.” 

Let  us  enter  the  liitle  bedroom  where  poor  Mike 
died.  Everything  is  in  contrast  to  last  evening, 
when  he  was  carried  here  bleeding  and  insensible, 
to  die  in  an  awful  agony.  The  floor  has  been 
scrubbed  nicely,  and  white ; the  paint  has  been 
washed  clean,  and  newly  washed  curtains  have 


110 


MIKE  HALEY’S  wake. 


been  put  up,  and  a couple  of  sheets  have  been 
tacked  in  plaits  around  the  walls ; every  article  in 
the  room  — looking-glass,  vases,  pictures,  clock 
— has  been  covered  with  a white  cloth  or  towel. 
The  crucifiK  and  a picture  of  the  Virgin  at 
the  head  of  the  corpse  are  alone  excepted.  The 
bed  has  been  taken  down  and  a catafalque  erected 
by  placing  some  boards  upon  a table  and  then 
tacking  sheets  in  plaits  over  this,  the  same  as  on  the 
walls,  allowing  the  cloth  to  extend  to  the  floor  on 
all  sides.  A little  table,  also  covered  with  a clean 
towel,  has  been  placed  at  the  foot  of  the  corpse. 
Upon  this  table  are  two  or  three  saucers,  some 
with  snufl*  in  them,  one  to  receive  snuffings  of 
candles,  and  a large  five-branch  candelabra. 

Mike  is  laid  out  in  his  own  clothes,  pants  and 
vest,  but  no  coat.  Clean,  blue  woollen  stockings 
have  been  pulled  on  his  feet ; and  he  is  further 
made  to  look  respectable  by  the  addition  of  a clean 
white  shirt,  supplied  by  Mag  O’Leary.  A pair  of 
rosary  beads  have  been  intertwined  in  his  fingers. 
A large  concourse  will  attend  this  wake,  for  a 
man  from  the  County  Cork  is  always  sure  to  have 
a large  wake  and  a large  funeral. 

Pat  O’Leary  has  commenced  to  shave  Mike, 
while  Barney  Lynch,  Billy  the  Kid,  and  Pat 
Mooney  have  gone  to  make  arrangements  for  the 
noted  time-honored  Irish  festival.  One  will  attend 


LAMENTATIONS  OF  MAG  O’LEARY. 


Ill 


to  getting  the  whiskey ; this  being  no  easy  task, 
there  being  not  much  money  in  the  crowd,  so  the 
work  has  been  left  to  the  Kid.  Mooney  will 
try  and  arrange  with  Glancy  the  undertaker  to 
send  some  kind  of  a box,  for,  as  Mag  O’Leary  said, 
” It  would  be  a mortal  shame  for  to  let  the  city 
bury  him,  such  a good  Catholic ; an’  perhaps  the 
haythins  would  stick  his  poor  ould  bones  in  ground 
that  never  was  consecrated,  and  was  n’t  howly.” 
Barney  Lynch  will  notify  a good  many  of  Mike’s 
old  friends,  also  his  wife’s  relations,  who  cut  off 
all  iniimacy  with  Mike  after  he  came  out  of  prison 
the  first  time.  Barney  also  knows  where  to  get 
enough  pipes,  tobacco,  and  matches  to  last  the 
three  nights  of  the  wake.  Thus  to  Mag  O’Leary 
the  expenses  will  be  comparatively  nothing,  while 
she  will  got  the  credit  among  the  neighbors  for 
everything.  Loud  will  be  the  praises  of  Mag 
O’Leary  on  all  sides  for  her  disinterested  work  of 
Christian  charity.  ''  Oh,  but  she ’s  the  good  woman 
to  lay  out  that  man  clane  an’  daysint,  an’  go  to 
ail  the  trouble  an’  expense  she  has,  an’  him  not  av 
her  own  flesh  and  blood  at  all,  at  all ! ” 

Mag  has  also  had  the  kitchen  scrubbed,  and  has 
placed  a nice  clean  cloth  on  the  table.  She  then 
tells  her  husband  to  fill  two  good-sized  boxes  with 
sand  for  the  men  who  come  in  the  evening  that 
chew  tobacco. 


112 


MIKE  HALEY’s  wake. 


All  this  has  been  done  long  before  the  neighbors 
have  lieard  of  the  sad  alfair.  The  tenants  in  the 
flat  above  Mag  O’Leary,  an  old  woman  and  her 
son,  have  heard  the  noise,  but  make  no  remark 
about  it,  as  such  fights  are  of  common  occurrence. 
The  first  time  they  are  notified  of  it  is  when  Pat 
O’Leary  goes  up  to  borrow  chairs  and  relates  what 
took  place  during  the  night. 

During  the  morning  the  news  of  the  murder  and 
death  of  Mike  Haley  spread  like  wildfire,  for  he 
was  well  known  in  the  neighl)orhood.  Men^ 
women,  and  children  flocked  in  to  learn  partic- 
ulars. 

"1  ’m  sorry  for  yer  trouble,  Mrs.  O’Leary,  but 
how  did  it  happen  ? ” " Och,  my  ! who  did  this  das- 
tardly act?”  "Was  he  shot,  or  what  ? ” "Did  he 
put  an  end  to  his  own  life?  ” " Oh,  look  at  the  cut 
in  the  side  av  his  head ! Was  he  struck  with  a 
club,  or  what?  ” "Did  he  die  without  the  priest?” 
" Sure  an’  Mike  would  n’t  have  touched  the  hair  in 
a baby’s  head  : he  was  so  good  an’  mild,”  cried  half 
a dozen  voices. 

"Jim  Blevins,  the  murderin’ thief,  is  the  man 
that  done  it ; an’  it ’s  lucky  for  him  I can’t  lay  my 
hands  on  him  now,  or  they ’d  be  another  wake  an’ 
two  funerals  on  the  same  day,”  answered  Pat 
O’Leary. 

" Oh  the  dirty  ! — God  forgive  me  this  blissid  an* 


LAMENTATIONS  OF  MAG  O’LEARY. 


113 


howlj  day  ! — but  it’s  an’  awful  deed,”  said  Mrs. 
Connors. 

" It’s  plaj^ed  out  yer  must  be,  Mag,”  said  Mrs. 
Murphy  : ''up  all  night.” 

"Oh,  don’t  talk,  woman,  don’t!  but  it’s  a sore 
time  I ’m  havin’.  But,  thanks  be  to  God,  he  had 
the  priest,  even  if  it  was  poor  Father  Keenan  I ” 

" Amen,”  was  Mrs.  Murphy’s  fervent  response. 
"Ain’t  it  too  bad  that  such  a foine  man  ud  be 
throwin’  himself  away  with  the  drink.” 

"An’  a better  man  niver  stood  in  shoe  leather,” 
chimed  in  Mrs.  Connors  : "he’d  take  the  shoes  av 
his  own  feet  an’  give  them  away  in  charity.” 

All  through  the  day  crowds  of  people  went  to 
look  at  the  murdered  man  and  find  out  how  he 
came  to  his  death. 

During  the  afternoon  the  Kid  returned, bringing 
with  him  a jug  of  whiskey  in  the  bag  mentioned 
before.  He  gave  it  to  Pat  O’Leary,  who,  know- 
ing he  had  no  money,  asked  him  where  he  got  it. 
The  Kid  re[)lied  by  saying,  "Take  it,  Paddy,  and 
ask  no  questions  now ; I ’ll  tell  yer  some  other 
time.  One  thing  at  any  rate  is  certain,  the  boys 
who  come  to-night  can’t  say  the  same  as  they  said 
of  Nick  Reilly’s  wake,  that ' it  was  the  dryest  wake 
they  ever  attended.’  Nick’s  sister  Katie,  yer 
know,  is  tony.  She  works  in  Jordan,  Marsh’s, 
an’  she  said  she ’d  have  no  whiskey-drinkin’  or  pipe- 


114 


MIKE  HALEY’S  wake. 


smokin’.  The  gang  went  to  the  wake  just  the 
same,  though,  on  poor  Nick’s  account,  for  he  was 
a good  feller,  Nick  was ; but  because  there  was 
none  of  the  stuff  or  weed  there,  it  was  talked 
about  afterwards.” 

Barney  Lynch  and  Pat  Mooney  returned  shortly 
after  the  Kid,  Lynch  bringing  with  him  a good 
supply  of  pipes,  tobacco,  and  matches.  Whether 
he  stole  them,  begged  them,  or  had  them  given  to 
him,  no  one  could  tell ; but  one  thing  is  certain,  he 
never  bought  them.  Mooney  said  that  Glancy 
the  undertaker  had  agreed  to  send  down  a cheap 
coffin,  as  he  had  buried  Mike’s  wife,  and  knew 
Mike  well,  too. 

The  Kid  said  if  it  had  been  necessary  to  do  it  he 
could  have  ^collared’  a stiff-box  (coffin). 

Barney  Lynch  had  also  notified  a goodly  num- 
ber at  the  West  End  and  other  parts  of  the  city, 
and  it  was  probable  there  would  be  a large  number 
there  in  the  evening. 

Mag’s  husband  and  the  trio,  in  anticipation  of 
this,  busied  themselves  by  preparing  for  the  recep- 
tion of  such  a number,  many  of  whom  would  come, 
not  knowing  the  deceased,  but  for  a glass  of 
"Mountain  Dew.”  One  placed  several  plates  on 
the  table  for  snuff,  tobacco,  and  matches,  another 
washed  a pitcher  and  several  goblets,  while  a third 
cut  the  tobacco.  Pat  O’Keilly  arranged  boards 


LAMENTATIONS  OF  MAG  o’lEARY. 


115 


upon  chairSi  making  temporary  benches,  occupying 
every  bit  of  available  space,  with  the  exception  of 
a narrow  passage-way  leading  from  the  outside 
door  to  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  the  corpse 
was  laid  out. 

”0  Mike,  Mike  ! dear  and  darlin’,  will  yer  spake 
to  me  ? O alanna  / alanna  / What  ’ll  we  do  at  all, 
at  all?  O why  did  yer  die,  acuslila^  why  did  yer 
die  ? Oh  ! oh  ! oh  ! yer  gone  to  yer  darlin’  now, 
yer  gone  to  yer  darlin’  now.  Oh  ! oh  ! the  cruel 
blow  that  laid  yer  low,  that  laid  yer  low  ! ” 

Mag  O’Leary,  at  the  head  of  the  corpse,  was  cry- 
ing and  keening  as  though  her  heart  would  break. 
The  bedroom  was  filled  with  women,  — neighbors, 
— who  had  come  in  to  offer  their  sympathy,  and 
all  were  affected  to  tears  by  Mrs.  O’Leary’s  an- 
guish ; and  many  joined  with  her  in  her  lamenta- 
tions for  the  deceased.  At  last,  Mrs.  Muiphy, 
her  own  eyes  streaming  with  tears,  went  up  to 
Mag  and  begged  of  her,  for  God’s  sake,  to  be  calm, 
saying  to  her  that  she  would  make  herself  sick. 
This  seemed  only  to  make  Mag  worse,  for  she 
burst  again  into  a fresh  torrent  of  tears,  and  com- 
menced anew  the  lamentations. 

"Mike,  will  ever  I see  you,  will  ever  I see  you 
again?  Ma  bouchal!  Will  ever  I see  you  again? 
Yer  said  yer’d  die  afore  the  sun  ud  rise,  an’  so 
yer  did,  an’  so  yer  did.  I know  yer  happy,  yer 
good  ould  sowl,  yer  good  ould  sovvl.” 


116 


MIKE  Haley’s  wake. 


Mrs.  Flannigan,  a next-door  neighbor,  here  en- 
tered, and  after  kneeling  down  and  saying  a silent 
prayer  for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  the  dead  man, 
as  every  one  else  did  who  entered  the  room  for  the 
first  time,  went  up  to  Mag  and  bade  her  to  hold 
her  peace. 

"Mag!  Mag  I Isay.  Will  yer  stop?  D’ yer 
want  to  be  taken  down  on  yer  bed  sick  ? An’  yer 
up  all  night.  Tut,  tut.  There  now,  dry  yer  tears, 
an’  sit  down  an’  rest  yerself  while  I make  yer  a 
hot  cup  o’  tay.” 

Mag  at  length  became  more  calm,  and  was 
finally  induced  to  lay  down  and  take  a nap. 

Towards  evening  the  house  began  to  fill  up  rap- 
idly. Mag  was  in  her  accustomed  place  at  the 
head  of  the  corpse,  decked  out  in  a borrowed  black  - 
dress,  and  wore  a crape  collar,  also  borrowed  for 
the  occasion.  She  was  patiently  waiting  for  a suf- 
ficient number  to  be  in  the  room  before  she  com- 
menced keening  again  ; for  Mag,  while  really  feel- 
ing sorry  at  heart,  wished  to  produce  a good  effect 
upon  the  minds  of  those  present,  particularly  stran- 
gers. 

In  the  kitchen  things  ’were  more  animated. 
jNIen  were  sitting  together  in  groups  of  two  or 
three,  smoking,  and  chatting  on  politics,  religion, 
and  labor.  Some  were  telling  stories,  relating 
reminiscences  of  the  old  country,  and  every  now 


LAMENTATIONS  OF  MAG  O’LEARY. 


117 


and  then  a loud  laugh  would  be  heard  from  some 
corner.  Pat  O’Leaiy  olBciated  as  master  of  cere- 
monies, assisted  by  the  Kid.  One  carried  around 
a pitcher  full  of  whiskey,  and  the  other  the  goblets. 
Woe  betide  him,  though,  who  happened  to  have 
signed  the  pledge  and  refused  to  take  a drink ; 
he  was  made  the  butt  for  jokes  and  hits  from  all 
parts  of  the  room,  and  if  weak-minded  he  was 
glad  to  escape  by  accepting  a glass,  even  though 
thereby  he  broke  his  oath  to  God ; for  he  must  he 
strong  indeed  who  could  resist  Pat  O’Leary’s  ur- 
gent appeals.  The  toast  almost  invariably  offered 
by  those  who  drank  was  an  invocation  to  the  Al- 
mighty to  grant  rest  to  poor  Mike  Haley’s  soul. 
The  whiskey  was  also  passed  around  among  the 
women,  many  of  whom  drank  it  just  as  freely  as 
the  men,  although  they  refused  the  first  offer  and 
had  to  be  pressed  and  coaxed,  while  at  the  same 
time  their  hearts  were  aching  for  it. 

The  Kid,  with  his  smooth,  oily  tongue,  was  the 
best  person  fitted  for  this  task  ; and  he  performed  it 
nobly. 

The  whiskey  was  passed  around  several  times 
durino^  the  eveniiiij.  About  ten  o’clock  Mrs.  Con- 
ners  arrived  from  church,  where  she  had  been 
attending  a meeting  of  the  Sodality  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin. 

" Ah,”  said  the  Kid,  " now  ye  ’ll  catch  it,  here ’s 


118 


MIKE  HALEY’S  wake. 


the  Sodality  woman.  Good  evenin’,  Mrs.  Conners. 
Were  yer  at  church  ? ” 

"Yes,  thanks  be  to  God,  an’ that ’s  where  yer 
ought  to  be  yerself,  yer  young  blackguard,”  said 
Mrs.  Conners,  laughing,  as  the  Kid  handed  her  a 
glass  of  whiskey. 

" No,  thank  yer.  Kid ; sure  yer  know  I never 
touch  a thing.” 

"Go  along  with  yer.  Do  take,  it’ll  warrum 
yer.  Take  it  from  his  hands.”  All  these  invita- 
tions from  one  who  had  a " nip  ” a short  while 
before,  and  not  being  as  religiously  inclined  as 
Mrs.  Conners,  in  the  way  of  church-going,  still 
were  just  as  good  Catholics.  They  wanted  to  have 
her  in  the  same  box  with  themselves,  and  if  they 
could  only  get  her  to  take  a nip,  why  they  would 
then  be  able  to  gossip  about  it  afterwards. 

Finally,  after  many  appeals  and  a great  deal  of 
solicitation  on  the  part  of  the  Kid.  the  Sodality 
woman  consented  to  take  half  of  what  was  poured 
out,  first  offering  a fervent  prayer  to  the  Throne  of 
Grace  for  the  repose  of  Mike’s  soul. 

She  then  took  out  a pair  of  beads,  and  inviting 
all  in  the  room  to  join  her,  commenced  to  say  the 
rosary,  and  all  answered  the  responses.  The  men 
in  the  kitchen,  drunk  and  sober,  hearing  the 
prayers,  also  knelt  down  at  a sign  from  Barney 
Lynch. 


LAMENTATIONS  OF  MAG  O’lEAKT. 


119 


The  prayer,  over  the  talk,  noise,  and  bustle,  was 
resumed  again.  Many  got  pretty  full  before  the 
morning  arrived,  and  were  snugly  stowed  away 
under  the  benches  to  sleep  it  off.  It  is  strange 
how  many  men  will  forego  the  whole  of  a night’s 
sleep,  and  sometimes  two  and  three  nights,  for  the 
sake  of  a few  glasses  of  whiskey.  Taking  away  the 
whiskey  from  an  Irish  wake  would  be  worse  than 
playing  "Hamlet”  and  leaving  out  the  character 
who  play<  the  title-role.  Not  one  in  ten  would  sit 
up  all  night  for  friendship  and  compassion  for  the 
bereaved  ones  if  whiskey  were  omitted. 

This  night  was  mild  in  comparison  to  the  second 
and  third,  which  were  like  bed  am  let  loose. 
Fights  were  continually  prevented  by  the  inter- 
position of  the  police.  It  was  difficult  to  keep 
order  even  in  the  midst  of  the  lamentations.  "O 
Mike  ! Mike  1 dear  and  darlin’ ; will  yer  not  spake 
to  us  ? Oh  ! oh  I why  did  yer  die,  why  did  yer  die  ?” 
Mag,  as  head  mourner,  leads  off  in  the  wailing, 
"Och,  poor  Mike,  yer  — yer  gone  this  night !” 
Then  comes  the  refrain,  "Och,  poor  Mike  (hie! 
hie  I).  Yes,  gone  (hie)  this  night.” 

" Oh  I the  blow  that  laid  yer  low  1 ” Then  the 
refrain,  from  all  who  were  sober  enough,  " Oh  I 
the  blow  (hie!  hie!)  that  laid  yer  low,”  sound- 
ing like  the  chorus  of  a husking  frolic  on  a negro 
plantation.  Those  huskings  are  sometimes  inspired 
by  liquor,  but  the  camp-meetings  are  not. 


120 


MIKE  Haley’s  wake. 


The  negroes  at  the  South  at  religious  revivals 
and  camp -meetings  often  become  excited.  They 
sing  and  shout,  and  weep  and  howl,  and  dance 
and  clap  their  hands ; they  are  transported  into 
ecsta-^ies,  sometimes  with  spasms,  hysterics,  and 
jerks,  3^'t  there  is  no  whiskey  at  the  bottom  of  it; 
their  religious  convictions  are  sincere. 

The  Shakers,  also,  will  indulge  in  religious 
dances  — mainly  the  ring  dance  — until  they  sweat, 
and  puff,  and  the  blood  flies  to  the  brain  and  they 
see  visions  of  ecstatic  delight.  However,  they  are 
continent,  temperate,  and  they  are  honest  in  their 
belief. 

The  Salvation  Army  may  become  offensive  in 
their  faith  and  actions  to  the  cold  mountaineers  of 
Switzerland,  so  as  to  call  out  English  diplomacy 
for  their  protection,  yet  they  are' pure  and  temper- 
ate in  their  lives. 

But  here  in  cultured  Boston,  right  under  the 
shadow  of  five  colleges,  — one  the  oldest  seat  of 
learning  in  America,  — here  enlightened  respecta- 
bility is  invited  to  look  on  and  permit  this  mixture 
of  sentimentality  and  religious  fervor  with  the 
lowest  debauchery  and  immorality  of  thieves  and 
robbers. 

Such  is  the  Irish  wake.  We  have  received  many 
things  from  Ireland,— Irish  whiskey,  Irish  [)ota- 
toes,  Irish  linen,  Irish  Fenianism, — but  nothing 
**at  all,  at  all”  compares  with  the  Irish  wake. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


MIRACLE  WONDERS.  CATHOLIC  TEACHINGS  IN  PUBLIC 

INSTITUTIONS. SALVATION  BY  SCAPULARS,  CHARMS, 

AND  HOLY  WATER.  ADDRESS  BEFORE  THE  LEGISLA- 

TIVE COMMITTEE. 

Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Committee  : 
There  is  a demand,  both  in  the  State  House  and 
at  the  City  Hall,  for  exclusive  Catholic  teachings 
in  our  public  institutions.  Complaint,  with  bills 
and  orders,  is  made  that  both  the  juvenile  and 
adult  criminals  and  paupers  are  compelled  to  at- 
tend public  worship  after  hearing  Cat'iolic  mass. 

This  is  a grievous  thing,  perhaps ; but  as  they 
have  forfeited  their  citizenship  for  tlm  time  being, 
become  wards  of  the  State,  perhaps  the  tax-payers 
may  have  some  voice  in  the  matter.  All  admit 
that  Catholics  pay  but  a small  percentage  of  the 
taxes,  while  they  have  nearly  twenty  millions  of 
church  property  and  other  property  in  the  St;ite 
untaxed.  The  State  anJ  city  tax  yearly  on  this 
would  be  nearly  half  a million,  — half  a million  ! 
to  be  paid  mostly  by  non-Catholics  in  rates  on  tax- 
able property. 

If  the  Church  pays  the  smallest  proportion  of 


122 


MIRACLE  WONDERS. 


taxes,  does  it  not  furnish  the  largest  proportion 
of  the  criminals? 

Mr.  Fraser,  of  Ward  Six,  who  presented  the 
order  to  the  Common  Council,  ackuovvledires  to  a 
Traveller  reporter  that  seventy  out  of  ninety  of  the 
boys  in  one  room  at  Deer  Island  — seven  ninths 
— were  Homan  Catholics;  and  in  rooms  where 
there  were  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  boys,  he 
thinks  there  were  only  four  Protestants. 

Now  here  is  a problem.  If  Catholic  teachings 
have  sent  these  boys  to  the  bad,  — three  limes  as 
many  in  the  institutions  as  Protestants,  and  three 
times  as  many  Protestants  outside  as  there  are 
Catholics,  making  a ratio  of  six  to  one  criminals 
and  paupers,  according  to  the  population,  — ^.shall 
the  State  support  and  foster  such  teachings,  and 
nothing  but  Catholic  teachings,  at  the  public 
expense  ? 

Mr.  Fraser  says,  ”It  is  somewhat  humiliating 
for  a Catholic  to  be  obliged  to  go  to  a Protestant 
service,  though  the  service  he  non-sectarian.” 

Do  tell ! The  public,  the  honest,  straightfor- 
ward citizens,  think  that  drinking,  swearing,  steal- 
ing, begging,  lying,  playing  the  pauper,  spending 
half  a lifetime  in  jail  and  prison  are  " somewhat 
humiliaiiwj to  say  the  least ! 

But  the  Church,  by  pandering  to  culprits,  seems 
to  think  otherwise,  — especially  Mr.  Fraser,  of 


ADDRESS  BEFORE  LEGISLATIVE  COMMITTEE.  123 


City  Hull ; and  Mr.  Mellen,  of  AYorcester,  who  in- 
troduced into  the  Legishilure  an  ord^  r for  Catholic 
protection  from  Protestant  influence  in  public  insti- 
tutions. 

I give  a sample  of  Catholic  teachings.  I hold 
in  my  hands  two  books,  one  the  llible ; it  is 
stamped  on  the  brow  of  the  highest  civilization 
in  the  world  ; it  has  developed  the  progress  of 
nil  ruling  nations;  it  has  [)lanted  school-,  col- 
leges, philosophy,  science,  invention,  statesman- 
ship, and  the  highest  style  of  Christian  manhood. 
This  book  is  not  allowed  by  the  Church. 

The  other  book  is  a history  of  the  Virgin’s  mira- 
cles, entitled  " The  Glories  of  Mary.”  It  is  canon- 
ical, authorized  by  the  Church,  approved  by  the 
jNIost  Reverend  Archbishop  Hughes,  of  New  York. 
I quote  from  page  61)9,  example  37.  A man  was 
devoted  to  the  Virgin  : used  to  go  barefooted  to 
visit  her  every  week  His  wife  became  very  jeal- 
ous, and  suspected  him  of  going  elsewhere.  Once 
in  particular  she  attacked  him  so  violently  that 
he  took  a rope  and  hung  himself ; but,  just  as 
his  soul  was  departing,  when  he  could  no  more 
help  himself,  he  invoked  the  help  of  Mary,  and 
behold,  a most  beautiful  lady  appeared,  who 
approached  him,  cut  the  rope,  and  saved  his  life. 

Now  there ’s  a big  miracle  for  you  ! And  — and 
— there  is  a woman  in  the  scrape! 


124 


MIRACLE  WONDERS. 


Another,  page  701,  example  40:  A wife  went 
one  (lay  to  visit  achiircli  of  the  Virgin  without  the 
knowledge  of  her  husband.  A storm  prevented 
her  return  that  night.  She  feared,  h*st  her  hus- 
band should  be  angry.  She  prayed  to  Mary  for 
help.  Next  morning  when  she  returned  she  found 
her  husband  very  gracious.  She  questioned  him, 
found  that  the  evening  before  the  Adrgin  had 
taken  her  form  and  attended  to  all  the  little 
affairs  of  the  household  like  a servant,  — washed 
the  dishes,  swept  the  floor,  threw  out  the  slops,  I 
suppose.  How  very  kind,  for  a woman  of  her  age, 
— eighteen  hundred  years  old  ! The  book  don’t 
say  whether  or  not  she  stopped  all  night! 

Another,  on  page  389  : How  to  make  a bishop. 
There  was  a certain  man  named  Udo,  in  Saxony, 
who,  from  his  youth,  had  been  so  destitute  of 
talent  that  he  was  the  ridicule  of  all  his  school- 
fellows. Now,  one  day,  being  more  than  usually 
disheartened,  he  went  to  pray  to  the  Virgin.  She 
appeared  to  him  and  said,  '"Udo,  I will  obtain 
for  you  talents  and  position  for  your  devotion  to 
me  ; I promise  that  you  shall  one  day  be  elected 
bishop.”  It  was  done,  and  he  became  bishop,  as 
the  Virgin  had  promised. 

Now,  that  Virgin’s  act  beats  the  strong-minded 
women,  the  advocates  of  woman’s  rights,  who  want 
to  vote;  perhaps  to  vote  by  post-office,  according 


ADDRESS  BEFORE  LEGISLATIVE  COMMITTEE.  125 


to  the  Butler  plan.  They  would  not,  however, 
select  an  idiot  for  bishop^  weak  or  not  weak, 
though  they  did  make  fools  of  themselves  at  the 
State  House  hissing  and  sissing  at  respectable 
legislators  who  opposed  them.  They  lost  their 
case,  alas  ! by  their  unladylike  conduct,  receiving 
the  smallest  vote  for  years. 

Well,  how  about  this  idiotic  bishop  ? Accord- 
ing to  the  book,  " Whilst  he  was  in  bed  one  night 
with  a wicked  companion,  he  heard  the  voice  of 
Mary,  saying,  ' Udo  ! Udo  ! cease  this  sinful  pas- 
time ; you  have  sinned  enough.’  ” / 

Yes  ; I should  think  he  had.  So  the  Virgin  for- 
sook him,  as  all  virgins  would  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances. But  to  call  this  crime  a pastime  ” 
was  rather  soft  impeachment  for  the  transgression 
of  the  Church’s  high  dignitary,  — examplar  and 
teacher,  sworn  by  sacred  vow  and  holy  orders 
to  perpetual  celibacy.  Yet  that  word pastime  ” 
shows  exactly  the  Church’s  estimate  of  the  great 
sin  of  priestly  adultery  then,  now,  and  forever. 

What  became  of  the  bishop?  Ah,  me  ! When 
forsaken  of  the  Virgin’s  protection,  his  enemies 
arose  and  seized  him  and  cut  off  his  head,  — a 
terrible  warning  to  bishops  and  priests  nowadays, 
who  indulge  in  similar  unholy  j)aslimes'^  I 

No.  56,  page  709  : A priest  had  his  tongue  cut 
out  by  the  wicked  Albigensian  heretics.  On  the 


126 


MIRACLE  WONDERS. 


Feast  of  the  Epiphany,  while  at  mass  in  a church, 
before  the  altar  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  he  prayed  her 
to  restore  the  ton^^ue  which  he  had  lost  through 
love  of  her,  that  he  might  sing  her  praises  as  he 
did  before. 

Then,  actually,  by  the  authority  of  Caesar ius 
and  the  Vatican,  the  Holy  Virgin  did  appear, 
tongue  in  hand,  and  with  venerable  fingers  and 
reverent  manipulations  did  place  the  tongue  in 
his  mouth  and  he  did  speak,  and,  raising  his  voice, 
he  recited  the  ''  Hail,  Mary  ” ! AVonderful ! Won- 
derful! Mirahile  dicta!  The  mark  of  the  scar 
was  always  seen  on  his  tongue.  So  much  for 
Virgin  miracles  ! Now  for  other  teachings. 

I hold  in  my  hand  a cord.  It  is  the  cord  of  St. 
Francis,  full  of  knots  and  mighty  in  power.  It 
is  worn  by  pope  and  cardinals  If  you  are  buried 
with  this  cord  around  you,  then  you  gain  plenary 
indulgence  and  escape  purgatory. 

Wonderful ! wonderful,  again  ! M^ho  would  not 
buy  a cord  for  sixpence  to  escape  purgatory  ? Only 
sixpence  for  the  tow  string ! Silk  you  must  not 
have;  it  must  be  tow  or  hemp,  such  as  hangmen 
use  around  the  neck  of  the  sinner ! 

"But  it  will  not  save  you  unless  blessed  by  the 
priest.”  Yes  ; I own  up.  This  is  the  pivot  that 
hinges  eternal  destinies,  — a priest’s  blessing ! 
No  matter  whether  drunk  or  sober,  saint  or  sin 


ADDRESS  BEFORE  LEGISLATIVE  COMMITTEE.  127 


ner,  he  has  the  keys  of  heaven,  and  can  seal  your 
fate.  Ilow  accommodating'  the  Almighty  must  be 
to  put  keys  in  the  hands  of  a drunken  priest ! 

These  articles  which  I present  to  you  have  never 
been  blessed  by  monk,  priest,  or  pope ; therefore 
I commit  no  sacrilege  in  handling  them  with  levity. 
If  they  were  only  consecrated  ! or  if  I could  steal, 
surreptitiously,  a blessing  upon  them,  heaven  only 
knows  the  potency  of  their  miraculous  charms  ! 

These  are  the  scapulars.  Scapular  means  ” shoul- 
der dress.”  They  consist  of  a string  and  [)ieces  of 
clotli  like  a pincushion  hung  upon  the  neck.  Xliey 
were  formerly  made  from  the  old  habits  of  monks  ; 
but  the}^  soon  became  so  popular,  by  priestly  ad- 
vertising, that  there  was  not  cloth  enough  to  go 
round.  So  the  Sisters  went  begging  from  shop  to 
store  for  remnants,  and  have  made  a ofood  thins: 
out  of  them’,  — twenty-five  cents  apiece  for  that 
which  costs  nothing. 

The  virtues  of  the  scapulars  are  very  extraordi- 
nary. The  Virgin  made  this  promise  to  all  who 
wear  it : " Whoever  shall  be  so  happy  as  to  die 
wearing  this  garment  shall  not  suffer  in  the  eternal 
flames  of  hell.  . . . And  if  there  be  any  among 
the  religious,  or  brethren  of  the  Confraternity, 
who,  having  departed  this  life,  shall  be  cast  into 
purgatory,  I,  their  glorious  Mother,  will  descend 
on  the  Saturday  after  their  death.  I will  deliver 


128 


MIRACLE  WONDERS. 


those  whom  I shall  find  in  purgatory  and  take 
them  up  to  the  holy  mountain  of  eternal  life.” 

They  have  also  the  power,  it  is  said,  of  guard- 
ing against  the  onslaughts  of  the  Devil  and  all 
temporal  evils,  even  to  saving  a man  from  drown- 
ing or  fallino^  off  a sta^rin^  or  ladder.  Now,  a 
Yankee  would  be  likely  to  secure  himself  by  nail- 
ing the  scaffold  and  the  ladder ; to  save  him  from 
drowning,  he  would  learn  to  swim ; to  avoid  the 
toils  of  the  Devil,  he  would  lead  a temperate  and 
moral  life  ; to  escape  the  plagues  of  purgatory,  he 
woi^d  study  anatomy,  geology,  geometry,  trigo- 
nometry, and  conic  sectioi^.  Study  th.Q  parabola, 
hyperbola,  and  ellipsis!  Now  if  that  won’t  save 
from  purgatory,  what  in  conscience  will  save  you? 

There  are  many  scapulars ; I give  only  two. 
This  scapular  is  named  in  honor  of  ” Oar  Lady  of 
Mount  Garmel!^^  Innumerable  are  the  indulgences 
and  advantages  claimed  by  the  priests  for  this 
scapular.  It  is  made  of  two  pieces  of  woollen 
cloth,  of  a dark-brown  or  coffee  color,  attached  to 
a double  string,  so  that  it  may  hang  over  on  the 
shoulders,  one  piece  on  the  breast,  and  the  other 
on  the  back.  On  one  side  of  the  scapular  are  the 
initials  I.  H.  S.,  meaning  ^Mesus  Tlominum  Sal- 
valor, or,  "Jesus,  the  Saviour  of  Men.”  On  the 
other  piece  I.  M.  I.,  signifying"  Jesus,  Mary,  and 
Joseph!*^ 


ADDRESS  BEFORE  LEGISLATIVE  COMMITTEE.  129 

I quote  from  the  ''Golden  Book  of  the  Confra- 
ternities” a few  remarkable  escapes  from  death 
and  danger : At  the  siege  of  Montpelier  a soldier 
was  struck  by  a musket  ball  and  did  not  sustain 
the  slightest  injury,  the  ball  having  been  stopped 
by  tlie  sca[)ular  he  wore.  A cornet  of  horse,  at 
the  siege  of  Tetin  in  1636,  was  wounded  by  a can- 
non ball,  which,  passing  through  his  left  side,  tore 
his  heart  to  pieces.  His  scapular,  which  was  driven 
into  the  heart  by  the  shot,  miraculously  preserved 
his  life  for  three  or  four  hours,  and  enabled  him  to 
repent.  In  1656,  a conflagration  in  France  was 
immediately  arrested  by  a faithful  man  who  threw 
his  scapular  into  the  flames. 

The  other  is  the  " Redemptorists'  Scapulay'd^  It 
is  of  five  colors,  and  resembles  a needle-book. 
This  brings  you  even  more  indulgences  than  the 
first.  Some  of  the  indulgences  as  quoted  are  : — 

I.  Every  Friday,  an  indulgence  of  seven  years 
and  seven  quarantines  for  all  wearers  of  this  scap- 
ular who  recite  five  times  " Our  Father,”  " Hail 
Mary,”  and  "Glory  be  to  the  Father.” 

II.  An  indulgence  of  thi'ee  years  and  three 
quarantines  for  such  persons  as  shall  meditate  for 
half  an  hour  on  the  Passion. 

III.  An  indulgence  of  two  hundred  days  for  all 
the  faithful  who  kiss  the  scapular  and  recite  a 
prayer. 


9 


130 


MIRACLE  WONDERS. 


But  the  greatest  miraculous  charm  is  this,  the 
jSt.  BenedieCs  medal.  The  following  are  some  of 
its  virtues:  1.  It  drives  from  the  human  body 
every  diabolical  work,  and  where  it  is  placed  the 
infernal  enemy  cannot  approach.  2.  It  is  a pre- 
servative and  antidote  against  every  poison. 
3.  Against  plague.  4.  Against  thunder.  5.  in 
storms  at  sea.  6.  It  is  a remedy  for  disease  of 
the  throat,  fever,  headache,  spitting  of  blood,  by 
applying  it  to  the  parts  affected.  7.  It  is  an 
armor  against  temptation,  especially  against  holy 
purity.  8.  It  is  a remedy  against  falling  sickness 
(epilepsy).  9.  It  brings  consolation  and  strength 
and  relief  in  life  and  death  to  the  afflicted,  tempted, 
and  the  desponding.  10.  It  frees  cattle  from  sick- 
ness. 

IIow  it  is  to  be  used : "To  be  worn  on  the  neck 
or  person  ; to  be  placed  on  the  doors  of  rooms  ; to 
be  applied  to  the  parts  affected  in  case  of  sickness  ; 
to  be  dipped  in  the  drink  of  animals.” 

Marvellous  ! marvellous  ! Only  get  the  medal 
kissed  and  blessed  and  sprinkled  with  holy  water, 
then  it  becomes  the  great  miraculous  cure-all  we 
read  of  in  all  world-wide  quack  advertisements. 

Why  there ’s  millions  in  it ! It  beats  Col.  Sel- 
lers’ eye-water  all  hollow  ! Place  it  on  your  cheek 
where  there  is  a boil  or  a Main,  and  both  Job’s 
tormentors  and  the  Presidential  aspirant  will  take 
to  their  heels  I 


ADDRESS  BEFORE  LEGISLATIVE  COMMITTEE.  131 


It  cures  not  only  man,  but  animals.  If  your 
horse  is  sick,  place  this  consecrated  medal  in  the 
trough  where  he  drinks,  and  he  is  healed  at  short 
notice.  Well,  if  it  can  cure  one  horse,  it  can 
cure  tift}s  so  bring  on  your  fifty  horses  ! It  is 
the  cheapest  horse  doctor  on  this  planet ! Only 
fifteen  cents  to  cure  the  whole  lot ! You  can  find 
it  at  the  archbishop’s  headquarters  and  at  Noonan’s 
bookstore,  with  printed  descriptions  and  direc- 
tions thrown  in,  — only  fifteen  cents,  — cheap  as 
dirt ! I give  the  advertisement  for  nothing,  pro 
hono  publico.  Call  for  8t.  Benedict's  medal,  only 
fifteen  cents. 

Such  are  Catholic  teachings,  intended  for  our 
public  institutions.  Shall  a Massachusetts  Legis- 
lature pass  the  order  ? I wait  and  wonder  if  com- 
mon sense,  common  honesty,  and  common  human- 
ity have  fled  the  Commonwealth  at  the  beck  of  a 
few  hungry  politicians. 

Next  comes  the  " rosary."  It  consists  of  a string 
of  sixty  beads  and  a cross, — “ fifteen  Our  Fathers, 
fifty  Hail  Marys,  fifteen  Glorias.”  It  was  intro- 
duced by  St.  Dominic  about  the  beginning  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  " It  was  composed  in  heaven, 
dictated  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  delivered  to  the 
faithful  by  the  Angel  Gabriel.”  Of  course  it  is 
canonical.  Marvellous  are  the  miracles  it  has  per- 
formed, even  in  sceptical  America.  They  fill  vol- 


132 


MIRACLE  WONDERS. 


umes  ; it  is  of  universal  use,  — found  everywhere 
among  juveniles,  paupers,  and  criminals;  and 
the  priest  with  the  rosary  sides  for  the  criminal 
and  against  the  State  every  time.  Hence  Catholic 
influence  among  law  breakers. 

But  the  question  is,  — 

1.  Does  it  make  good  citizens,  build  up  the 
State,  and  promote  good  morals? 

2.  Does  not  the  vain  repetition  of  prayers,  like 
the  Hail  Mary  for  instance,  over  and  over  again,  as 
in  the  rosary,  where  that  prayer  is  repeated  fifty 
times  alone,  and  by  some  over  one  hundred  and 
fifty  times,  tend  to  weaken  the  intellect? 

3.  Which  leads  to  the  best  success  in  life,  for 
boys,  bead  counting,  or  the  multiplication-table? 
An  honest  trade,  healthful  occupation,  toil  that 
brings  present  reward,  or  trusting  to  priest  and 
scapulars  to  get  you  out  of  prison?  Does  the 
State  invest  in  purgatory,  or  citizenship? 

4.  Is  it  not  immodest  and  demoralizing  to  re- 

peat, fifty  times  or  more  a day,  "Blessed  is  the 
fruit  of  thy  womb?”  Kepeating  fifty 

times  a day  makes  it  altogether  too  familiar  ! Too 
free  ! Too  much  like  the  oat-and-dog  mode  of  life  ! 
Sacred  treasures  are  hid. 

5.  Do  not  questions  like  the  following,  taken 
from  the  Boston  Catechism,  lead  to  licentious- 
ness ? Questions : — 


ADDRESS  BEFORE  LEGISLATIVE  COMMITTEE.  133 


What  is  forbidden  by  the  Sixth  Commandment  ? 
"Thou  shalt  not  commit  adultery.” 

What  else  ? "All  kinds  of  sins  of  uncleanlinesa 
with  another’s  wife  or  husband.” 

What  else  ? "All  other  kinds  of  immodesties,  by 
kisses,  touches,  looks,  words,  and  actions.” 

What  is  the  Ninth  Commandment  ? " Thou  shalt 
not  covet  thy  neighbor’s  wife.” 

What  is  forbidden  by  this  ? "All  lustful  thoughts 
and  desires,  and  all  wilful  pleasures  in  the  irregu- 
lar motions  of  concupiscence.” 

6.  Do  not  questions  like  the  foregoing,  asked  of 
children  less  than  fourteen  in  the  school,  and  mul- 
tiplied a hundred-fold  by  the  priest  in  the  confes- 
sional, lead  to  lust  and  make  the  Church,  what  it 
always  has  been  in  every  nation  where  it  has  com- 
plete control,  the  hotbed  of  licentiousness,  enemy 
of  legal  divorce,  yet  the  conniver  of  the  most  fla- 
ofrant  concubinage  that  ever  cursed  the  civilized 
world? 

7.  In  short,  does  not  the  Church,  through  such 
teaching  as  this, — now  knocking  at  the  State 
House  for  aid, — already  furnish  three  fourths  of 
the  harlots  in  the  bagnios,  dance  halls,  temporary 
homes,  and  asylums  ? three  fourths  of  the  pugilists, 
shoulder-hitters,  sporting  men,  blacklegs,  drunk- 
ards, and  dead  beats  in  Boston? 

Ah  ! gentlemen,  if  such  are  its  undeniable  fruits 


134 


MIRACLE  WONDERS. 


now,  while  holding  the  balance  of  power  in  all  the 
large  cities,  what  will  be  its  arrogance  if  you  grant 
it  State  aid  ? 

No ! no ! gentlemen,  that  cannot  be,  though 
there  is  a call  for  $15,000  for  one  institution 
alone.  The  Koman  Catholic  Church,  as  a political 
organization,  has  had  its  day.  Native-born,  intel- 
ligent, aspiring  youths  are  forsaking  its  mummer- 
ies by  the  legion. 

Political  preferment  will  soon  be  out  of  its  hands 
and  gone  forever.  Politicians  will  then  see  it,  and 
no  more  bend  the  suppliant  knee.  Then  the  great 
mother  Church,  renovated  and  redeemed  from  her 
vices  and  intrigues,  watched  by  a vigilant  public 
eye,  trustees  appointed  for  all  her  treasures,  lotter- 
ies and  church  gambling  forbidden,  drunkenness, 
both  of  priests  and  people,  disallowed,  ” Total  absti- 
nence and  prohibition  ” her  watchword,  Reform  ! 
Reform  ! ” her  battle-cry,  — then,  and  then  only, 
will  she  leap  to  the  front  and  become  champion, 
leader,  and  pioneer  among  the  spiritual  forces  of 
this  great  American  Republic ! God  speed  the 
day  ! Amen,  and  Amen  I 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


SCAPULARS  don’t  SAVE. — MARY  MULLIGAN’S  CRIME.  — 

PLOT  OF  SAM  SKILLINS. FATHER  KEENAN  TO  THE 

RESCUE. 

''Opi  save  me  ! save  me,  father  ! I have  sinned  ! 
I have  sinned  terribly,  awfully!  Oh  I oh  I oh! 
may  the  Blessed  Virgin  help  me!”  said  Mary 
Mulliiran,  falling  at  the  feet  of  Father  Keenan  at 
Mag  O’Leary’s  house. 

Mary  Mulligan  was  the  handsomest  girl  I ever 
sat  eyes  upon.  I speak  from  personal  acquaint- 
ance, for  I married  her  at  last  to  the  villain  who 
had  ruined  her ; after  that  I heard  her  pitiful 
story,  her  crimes  and  desertion, — heard  it  from 
her  own  trembling  lips. 

Her  parents  were  the  strictest  of  Cfatholics,  liv- 
ing on  the  Merrimac,  owning  a farm,  furnishing 
truck  and  vegetables  for  a large  city.  They  drove 
in  every  Sabbath  to  church,  brought  up  Mary  in 
the  strictest  manner  under  the  crosses,  scapulars, 
beads,  charms,  prayer-book,  holy  water,  and  oilers 
of  indulgences  for  every  extra  devotion. 

But  Mary  was  like  the  squab  in  the  nest,  fat  and 
hearty  so  long  as  it  remained ; but  force  it  from 


136 


SCAPULAES  don’t  SAVE. 


its  warm  nest,  with  no  wings  developed  for  flying, 
it  drops  right  straight  to  the  ground,  and  the  cat 
catches  it  at  the  tirbt  pounce. 

So  with  these  Catholic  purists  : at  home,  under 
the  paternal  roof,  they  are  models  of  purity ; but 
let  them  out  into  the  world  to  battle  with  tempta- 
tions, they  speedily  jump  the  track,  and  tumble 
like  a locomotive  down  an  embankment.  They 
are  not  educated  to  practical  life ; their  devotions 
are  often  sentimental  illusions,  having  no  practical 
bearing  or  stable  character  whatever. 

Mary  Mulligan  is  a sample,  an  actual  case  ex- 
actly in  point.  Leaving  home  to  visit  a married 
sister  in  Roxbury,  she  stopped  at  a restaurant  on 
Eliot  Street.  Billy  the  Kid  recognized  her  at 
once,  for  in  his  tramps  he  had  scoured  all  the  Irish 
villages  on  the  Merrimac.  He  knew  her,  but  did 
not  make  himself  known.  He  knew  there  were 
several  men  in  that  saloon  who  would  pay  heavily 
for  a fresh  and  handsome  bird  to  their  pigeonry. 

He  winked  to  the  bar-keeper,  then  to  the  men ; 
they  winked  back,  and  a plot  was  formed  at  once. 
''An’  it’s  a fine  day.  Miss,”  said  Pat  Mooney. 

"Yes,  sir”  (tremblingly).  "A  very  fine 
day.” 

Now  the  ice  was  broken.  " This  is  Mr.  Samuel 
Skillins,  a broker,  a gentleman  of  great  wealth  and 
cultur’,”  said  Pat.  "Let  me  introduce  him  to 


MARY  mulligan’s  CRIME. 


137 


yer.  Mr.  Skillins,  this  is  Miss  — Miss  — what 
may  I call  yer  name,  Miss?” 

^'Mary  Mulligan,”  was  the  bashful  reply. 

” Oh  yes  I beg  yer  pardon  I This  is  Miss  Mul- 
ligan, Mr.  Skillins,”  bowing  politely  as  best  the 
thief  could. 

And  forthwith  a large,  full-breasted  man,  much 
older  than  herself,  for  she  was  a mere  child,  be- 
decked with  heavy  gold  watch-chain  and  jewelry, 
dark  sparkling  eyes,  black  hair  and  whiskers,  sat 
by  her  side,  and  courting  commenced  at  once. 

"So  you  are  going  to  Roxbury,  then?” 

"Yes,  sir”  (abashed  and  trembling).  "Mother 
said  I must  not  stop  in  the  city  till  I found  my 
sister ; but  the  cars  were  so  late,  and  I was  so 
hungry,  I came  in  here  for  refreshments,  and  must 
go  right  along,  I must,”  starting  to  go. 

"Don’t  be  in  too  great  haste  ; take  a little  sherry 
before  you  go.  Do  you  live  near  the  city,  Miss 
Mulligan?”  asked  Samuel  Skillins,  as  he  pulled 
his  chair  over  to  the  side  of  the  table  on  which 
Mary  had  eaten  her  cheap  lunch. 

" No,  sir,”  said  Mary,  rising  to  her  feet.  She 
had  been  so  unaccustomed  to  the  society  of  men 
that  she  felt  a vague  uncertain  kind  of  fear  that  • 
something  terrible  was  going  to  happen  to  her. 

" What ! and  are  you  going  out  of  town  at  this 
hour,  and  unprotected  ? Do  you  not  know  the 


138 


SCAPULAKS  don’t  SAVE. 


dangers  that  beset  a young  girl’s  path  in  a great 
city  like  this?” 

" I am  going  to  my  sister’s,  who  is  married,  and 
lives  in  lioxbury.  A gentleman  whom  I asked 
before  comino:  in  told  me  that  it  was  not  a great 
distance  from  here,”  replied  Mary,  glancing  ner- 
vously at  the  clock,  on  which  the  hands  pointed  to 
five  o’clock,  and  past. 

"Well,  it  is  only  a matter  of  fiv^e  or  six  miles,” 
said  Skillins,  indilferently,  as  he  lit  a fresh 
cigarette ; " and  then  it  is  a country-like  place ; 
the  houses  are  scattered  apart,  and  you  could  not 
help  losing  your  way.  Why  not  stay  in  the  city 
to-night?  I can  recommend  you  to  a place  Avhere 
you  can  get  a nice  room,  and  then  you  can  go  and 
look  for  your  sister  in  the  morning.  But  where 
did  you  say  you  came  from?”  he  continued,  cast- 
ing a side-glance  at  Mary,  and  drinking  in  with 
his  ravishing  eyes  all  the  charms  of  this  pink  of 
3"outh  and  beauty  as  she  stood  hesitating  under 
the  glare  of  the  brilliant  lights  just  ignited,  and 
tr}  ing  hard  to  decide  what  she  should  do. 

"Here’s  the  sherry.  Miss  Mulligan;  it  will 
warm  your  heart  for  the  journey,  if  you  must  go. 
How  would  you  like  to  tend  table  here  and  earn  a 
little  something?  The  work  is  light,  only  an  hour 
or  two,  three  times  a day.  You  have  all  the  rest 
of  the  time  to  yourself.  Wait  until  morning,  you 
can  then  decide.” 


MARY  mulligan’s  CRIME. 


139 


" O,  what  would  my  mother  think,  if  I did  not 
see  my  sister  to-night  ? ” 

" Pshaw  ! jmu  might  stay  here  for  weeks,  and 
your  mother  would  be  none  the  wiser,”  — with  a 
fresh  [)idf. 

"An’  it’s  Sam  Skillins  what  is  the  old  hawk  that 
catches  the  young  chickens,”  said  Pat  Mooney, 
in  whispers  to  his  companions,  as  he  saw  the  poor 
o^irl  hesitatinor. 

"Another  glass  of  sherry.  Miss  Mulligan,”  said 
Skil  ins,  with  a sly  twinkle  to  his  chums;  "it 
will  revive  you  for  your  journey.” 

" Xo  ! No,  sir  ! 1 — I thank  you,”  complain- 

ing already  of  the  fumes  flying  to  her  head. 

"Nonsense!  Miss.  It  is  not  the  wine  that  af- 
fects you,  but  you  are  tired,  needing  rest.  I will 
show  you  a comfortable  room,  which  }mucan  lock, 
all  to  yourself,  and  will  pay  tor  }^our  lodging  my- 
self,  if  you  desire.  Now,  take  my  arm,  please,  and 
look  at  the  room.” 

And  Mary  Mulligan,  the  beautiful,  the  happy, 
the  innocent,  after  many  protests,  denials,  and  re- 
fusals, at  last  compromises  with  her  conscience, 
and  goes  to  witness  the  room.  She  goes  as  a fly 
to  the  web,  a lamb  to  the  slaughter.  Something 
more  than  crosses,  scapulars,  and  prayer-books 
will  now  be  needed  to  repel  her  from  the  grasp 
of  that  fiend. 


140 


SCAPULARS  don’t  SAVE. 


I have  this  from  her  own  lips  : " When  T went 
to  the  room,  I found  it  handsomely  furni-hed  with 
carpels,  tapestry,  books,  and  paintings.  Indeed, 
I said  to  myself,  Mr.  Skillins  must  be  rich ; how 
kind  he  is  to  give  me  his  room  ! Then  how  noble 
to  allow  me  the  key,  so  that  I shall  be  all 
alone  ! ” 

Both  parties  to  this  transaction  were  perfectly 
satisfied.  There  was  a key  on  the  inside  of  Mary’s 
room,  and  she  felt  secure  from  all  intruders,  as  she 
could  lock  the  door,  leaving  the  key  in  it,  before 
retiring.  To  her  this  large,  richly  furnished  room 
seemed  as  the  compartment  of  a palace.  She 
turned  on  the  gas,  and  gazed  in  wonder  and 
astonishment  upon  the  costly  adornments. 

Sam  Skillins,  also,  was  happy.  He  had  a secret 
bolt  on  the  outside  of  the  door,  which  he  quietly 
fastened.  The  game  was  now  secure  in  his  hands. 
Never  was  unwary  bird  more  easily  caged.  He  is 
free  to  do  as  he  pleases,  — to  sport  with  his  dog, 
take  to  his  horse,  or  go  to  his  favorite  haunt,  the 
ffamblino:  den. 

Bright  and  early  did  Mary  Mulligan  rise  next 
morning  to  meet  Mr.  Skillins  at  the  door.  Her 
life  she  thought  was  to  be  one  continual  round  of 
pleasures.  After  waiting  on  table  an  hour  or  two, 
she  was  to  ride  out  with  Mr.  Skillins,  smile  upon 
the  by-standers  show  her  pretty  face  to  the  crowd. 


MARY  mulligan’s  CRIME. 


141 


go  to  the  theatre,  opera,  dance-hall,  and  mix  in 
the  gayest  society. 

Besides,  Mr.  Skillins  had  promised  to  marry 
her.  What  fortunes  awaited  her?  She  forgot  her 
pra}^ers,  thought  not  of  home,  father,  mother^ 
and  already  despised  her  poor  relations. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Mulligan,”  said  Mr.  Skil- 
lins, as  the  door  opened,  and  he  printed  a warm 
kiss  upon  her  cheek.  " Hope  you  rested  well 
after  your  fatigue ; you  will  relish  a good  break- 
fast.” 

"Yes,  sir;  thank  you,”  was  the  modest  reply. 

Mary  got  through  with  her  duties  the  first  day 
pretty  well  for  a new  hand,  and  was  ready  to  go 
riding  with  Mr.  Skillins  in  the  evening.  He 
drove  to  Hyde  Park,  and  at  Brookline  ordered 
a private  lunch  and  wine  for  two  in  the  hotel. 
She  repelled  all  undue  familiarity  on  his  part,  and 
neither  could  the  many  promises  he  held  out  of 
marriage  and  wealth  avail  to  make  her  give  con- 
sent.  Then  in  sheer  desperation  Samuel  Skil- 
lins determined  to  have  her  submit  to  his  wishes. 
He  knew  a friend  of  his  who  would  consent  to  im- 
personate a justice  of  the  peace,  and  go  through  in 
form  a mock  marriage. 

Marriage  being  over,  festivities  commenced. 
Skillins,  proud  of  her  beauty,  presented  his 
charming  Aspasia  to  the  admiration  of  the  public 


142 


SCAPULARS  don’t  SAVE. 


praze  on  all  festive  occasions.  She,  completely 
giddy,  dazed,  and  delighted  with  flattering  atten- 
tions, seemed  to  walk  a queen. 

But  the  honeymoon  was  of  short  duration. 
Novelties,  nonsense,  and  nuptial  felicities  gave 
way  to  stern  realities.  Less  than  six  weeks 
proved  him  a villain,  and  her  a coquette. 

JNlary’s  palatial  home  was  soon  to  be  no  longer 
hers.  Sam  Skillins,  grown  tired  of  his  new-made 
love,  picks  a quarrel  as  an  excuse  to  get  rid  of  her. 
The  bride  of  a month  finds  that  "not  all  is  gold 
that  glitters.” 

" Who  was  that  you  bowed  to  in  the  saloon  to- 
day, Mary?”  said  Mr.  Skillins  to  his  adopted 
wife,  one  night  in  their  room,  after  she  had  re- 
turned home  from  work. 

" Why,  Sammy,  dear,  that  is  one  of  the  regular 
boarders.  I got  acquainted  with  him  the  second 
day  after  I went  there.” 

" But  you  know  I don’t  allow  any  gentleman  to 
pay  you  attentions,”  replied  Mr.  Skillins,  in  a 
stern  tone  of  voice. 

Mary,  seeing  his  rising  anger,  pouted,  while  the 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  " Well,  I hope  you  don’t 
intend  to  make  a slave  of  me  altogether,”  biting 
her  lips  as  she  unfastens  her  cloak. 

" A slave  of  you  !”  cried  Mr.  Skillins,  jumping 
up  from  the  sofa,  and  glaring  at  her  as  a tiger 


MARY  mulligan’s  CRIME. 


143 


does  on  its  prey  before  the  fktal  spring, — ''a  slave 
of  you  ! Have  n’t  1 given  you  everything  you 
wished  for?  Haven’t  I showered  u[)on  you  every 
comfort  and  enjoyment  wealth  could  purchase? 
Have  n’t  I shown  you  every  attention,  and  intro- 
duced you  to  high  society?  Yet  this  is  your  grat- 
itude ! You  repay  all  by  flirting  with  this  young 
snob  ! ” 

Samuel  Skillins  had  at  last  exhibited  himself 
in  his  true  colors.  He  threw  off  the  mask, 
threw  ofi*  the  sheep’s  clothing,  and  showed  the 
wolf. 

As  for  Mary,  she  was  simply  astounded.  When 
she  tried  to  make  answer  her  tongue  clove  to  the 
roof  of  her  mouth.  Could  this  be  the  kind,  the 
amiable,  the  fatherly  Mr.  Skillins,  who  had  con- 
ducted her  to  this  room  a few  weeks  ago  ? Could 
this  be  the  man  who  had  sworn  to  love,  cherish, 
and  protect  her?  But  she  would  not  weep,  she 
would  not  yield  to  her  feelings  or  show  that  he 
laid  frightened  her.  So  mustering  all  her  courage 
she  retorted,  "But  if  you  were  so  very  kind  and 
attentive  you  wmuld  not  let  me  work  as  hard  as  I 
have  done,  and  you  so  rich.” 

If  Sam  Skillins  w^as  angry  before,  he  was  ten 
times  more  so  now.  It  always  takes  the  last  straw 
to  l)reak  the  camel’s  back.  He  did  not  like  this 
display  of  spirit  and  pluck  on  the  part  of  his 
pseudo  wife. 


144 


SCAPULAES  don’t  SAVE. 


"What  of  it?  Wasn’t  it  better  for  you  to  be 
at  work  than  sitting  idle  in  these  rooms  with  noth- 
ing to  do?”  And  he  stamped  upon  the  floor  in 
his  rage.  " I will  not  have  this  flirting ; I will 
not  allow  it.  I suppose,  too,  you  have  had  secret 
meetings  with  this  chajperon.  He  probably  visits 
the  restaurant  often  during  the  day  ; and  a mar- 
ried woman  must  needs  entertain  this  libertine  with 
charming  conversation.  Oh,  yes,  you  ’re  a pretty 
woman,  a faithful  wife  ! ” 

Then,  with  all  the  hatred  and  jealousy  of  his 
passionate  nature  aroused  to  its  highest  pitch,  he 
pointed  towards  the  door  and  ordered  her  to  " Gro  ! ” 
saying,  " I want  no  more  of  you  ! ” 

"But  where  will  I go?”  asked  Mary,  as  she 
tremblingly  cowers  before  him. 

"To  the  street,  where  I found  you  !”  he  thun- 
dered, wild  with  rage. 

" What ! Do  you  call  your  wife  a common  street- 
walker ? ” 

"Wife!  wife!”  he  said,  scornfully,  "you’re 
not  my  wife  ! ” 

"Were  we  not  lawfully  married?”  she  asks, 
aghast. 

"No,”  he  hissed,  with  all  the  venom  of  his  bad 
heart.  "I  was  never  legally  married  to  you.  The 
ceremony  Avas  a mock  marriage.  Frank  Melville 
is  no  justice  of  the  peace,  and  you  are  free  1 ” 


MAKY  mulligan’s  CRIME. 


145 


A sickening  pain  enters  Mary’s  heart,  as  she 
groans  and  shudders  : "Ah  ! yes  ; free,  but  ruined. 
Free  in  the  sight  of  man,  but  guilty  before  God 
and  the  an«:els.” 

Then  she  bethought  herself  of  her  wedding  ring, 
and,  looking  up  at  him,  she  pointed  to  it,  and 
said,  with  a flush  of  exultation,  "But  I have  proof 
that  we  were  married ! ” 

Samuel  Skillins,  raising  himself  to  his  full 
height,  scowled,  and  said,  "That  will  avail  you 
little  in  our  courts.  Where  is  your  certificate?” 

"Alas!  I do  not  know,  I’m  at  your  mercy ! ” 
cringing  like  a whipped  child. 

"Yes,  you  are!  And  that  mercy  is,  that  you 
leave  this  house  immediately.  Begone  ! ” stamp- 
ing his  foot. 

The  villain  stands  before  her  unmoved.  He  is 
inflexible  and  as  hard  as  steel.  He  is  used  to 
such  scenes  as  this.  And  with  wealth  and  power 
on  his  side  he  knows  no  fear.  He  has  broken  other 
hearts,  and  now  grown  tired  of  Mary  Mulligan  the 
beautiful  country  girl,  he  is  determined  that  she 
shall  l)e  a burden  no  longer. 

"And  must  I go?”  completely  broken  down 
and  throwins:  herself  on  her  knees  before  him. 
" Oh,  no,  you  cannot  mean  it,  Sam  ; you  are  angry 
now  ! Oh,  forgive  me,' forgive  me  for  God’s  sake, 
* Oh  ! oh  ! oh  ! ” wringing  her  hands  and  tearing  her 


146 


SCAPULARS  don’t  SAVE. 


hair  in  utter  cl  is  pair.  " Oh  ! oh  ! has  it  come  to 
this?  Then  give  me  my  things,  will  you,  if  I 
must  go  ? ” 

" No  ! No ! Not  a rag,  except  such  as  you 
wore  on  your  back  when  you  came  here,”  pointing 
to  the  door. 

With  temples  throbbing  and  sick  at  heart,  she 
takes  off  the  beautiful  clothes  and  puts  on  her  own 
plain  ones. 

Well,  madam,  are  you  going?” 

" Yes,”  answers  Mary,  with  her  hand  on  the 
door-knob.  Suddenly  she  turns  around  and  says, 
her  voice  quivering  with  emotion,  "Samuel  Skil- 
lins,  you  have  wronged  me,  and  now  turn  me  into 
the  street.  You  are  not  dead  yet,  and  I am  not. 
Remember  there  is  a just  God  above  who  will 
wreak  vengeance  on  you  for  all  that  you  have 
done  to  me.” 

Sam  with  an  oath  makes  towards  her  and  pushes 
her  from  the  door. 

And  Mary  Mulligan  found  herself  suddenly 
thrust  into  the  streets  this  cold  and  stormy  night, 
peimyless,  a stranger  in  a strange  city,  guilty, 
condemned,  betrayed,  ashamed  to  see  sister  or 
mother,  and  wishing  to  die.  She  wandered  out  of 
Eliot  Street  to  Washins^ton  Street,  wrino^ins:  her 
hands  and  crying,  yet  striving  to  conceal  her  tears 
and  sighs ; then  to  Dover  Street,  then  to  South 


MARY  mulligan’s  CRIME. 


147 


Boston,  then  hack  to  Harrison  Avenue,  where  her 
heart  could  no  longer  restrain  itself,  and  she  sighed 
and  oried  aloud. 

Many  a man  that  met  her  that  dark  and  misty 
night  of  melting  snow  would  gladly  have  shel- 
tered her,  but  only  perhaps  to  have  plunged  her 
soul  into  deeper  degradation.  Fortunately  she 
met  on  Harrison  Avenue  a shop  girl  from  the 
countiy,  name  Jane  Meeker. 

Jane  was  a Presbyterian,  a girl  of  stern  integ- 
rity and  piety.  Her  prayers  were  short,  but  she 
had  great  faith  in  God,  and  in  his  word  of  i)romise. 
She  read  that  word  daily.  She  was  rooted  jind 
grounded  in  its  teachings.  When  she  met  Mary 
Mulligan,  weeping  in  the  streets  of  a great  and 
wicked  city,  her  tears  mingling  with  the  falling 
mists,  and  her  cries  rending  the  heavens,  she 
pitied  her,  but  asked  not  her  creed,  as  she  was  a 
child  of  our  common  suffering  humanity. 

"Daughter  of  sorrow  ! child  of  misfortune  ! what 
is  your  distress?”  said  Jane  Meeker  in  tender 
tones,  as  she  pressed  the  brow  of  the  weeping 
stranger. 

Oh  what  a thrill  of  feeling  stirred  the  soul  of 
that  betrayed  child  of  hope  at  the  voice  of  a single 
stranger  friend  ! 

" I am  lost ! lost ! dear  stranger  ! I am  ruined 
for  life.  I have  been  cruelly  deceived,  betrayed. 


148 


SCAPULARS  don’t  SAVE. 


Oh  ! T am  lost ! lost ! No  home,  no  friend,  no 
hope  of  heaven  ! ” And  her  cries  and  agonies 
began  to  draw  the  crowd  around  her,  as  Jane 
Meeker  rescued  her,  and  led  her  to  her  own  pri- 
vate room. 

Jane  Meeker  had  just  returned  from  prayer 
meeting.  "1  was  a stranger  and  ye  took  me  in,” 
had  been  the  theme  of  the  evening.  This  poor 
unfortunate  girl  was  that  stranger  sent  of  heaven  ! 
A beautiful  pearl  washed  ashore  from  the  turbu- 
lent ^ea  of  temptation  I 

Never  had  Jane  belter  opportunity  for  a Christ- 
like  deed. 

Mary,  wet  with  snow  and  slush,  was  completely 
exhausted,  and  wild  with  delirium.  Tossing  and 
turning  upon  the  couch  and  wringing  her  hands 
she  cried,  ” Oh  my  God  ! my  God  ! I am  lost ! I 
am  lost ! Oh,  what  will  my  poor  mother  and  my 
dear  sister  say?  Oh  how  angry  my  father  will 
be  ! He  will  disown  me  ! Oh  ! he  will  disown 
me  !”  AYith  her  hands  upon  her  head,  her  hair 
dishevelled,  her  eyes  red  from  weeping,  she  looked 
the  very  picture  of  despair. 

Jane  l)athed  her  forehead,  speaking  words  of 
sympathy  and  condolence.  ” Oh,  my  dear  friend  ! 
don’t  take  on  so,  your  sorrows  pain  me.  I will 
be  a friend  to  you.  God  will  be  a friend  to  you  ! 
He  will  forgive  you;  and  the  angels  are  your 


MARY  mulligan’s  CRIME. 


149 


friends,”  and  lovingly  she  kissed  her  tear-stained 
cheek. 

Mary,  after  recovering  a little  — ”Oh  dear 
stranger,  how  can  1 ever  repay  you  for  all  your 
kindness  ? ” 

"Oh,  don’t  mention  it!  Oh,  do  try  and  be 
calm  yourself.  Try  and  forget  your  terrible  mis- 
fortunes I ” So  saying  she  made  for  her  a plate  of 
toast  and  a cup  of  tea,  and  after  committing  her  to 
God  in  earnest  prayer,  shares  with  her  a warm  and 
comfortahle  bed. 

Jane  Meeker’s  character  rested  upon  three  things 

— the  Bible,  common-sense,  and  moral  rectitude. 
She  was  a graduate  from  our  common  schools,  — 
a girl  of  sterling  worth.  One  of  a large  class  of 
pure  and  noble  working-girls  that  do  honor  to  a 
great  city.  Mary  Mulligan  was  just  the  opposite, 

— ignorant,  vain,  and  visionary.  She  was  the  fruit 
of  Catholic  teachings  in  the  much-mooted  parish 
schools.  These  girls  are  no  myths  of  the  novel- 
ist’s fancy,  but  actual  living  beings. 

Next  morning  Jane  advised  her  to  tend  the 
tables  in  the  restaurant  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
She  did  so  for  several  days,  lodging  with  Jane. 
One  morning  she  feigned  sickness,  and  did  not  rise 
when  Jane  went  to  work.  Jane  suspected  some- 
thing wrong,  and  returned  at  noon.  She  found 
that  her  silk  dress  and  rings,  and  jewels  to  the 


150 


SCAPULARS  don’t  SAVE. 


amount  of  $45,  were  stolen.  She  at  onee  informed 
the  police. 

Now,  Mary  did  not  intend  to  steal  them,  but, 
giddy  and  foolish,  she  thought  to  borrow  them  for 
a day  and  catch  at  the  saloon  with  gaudy  trinkets 
anothiT  lover,  then  return  them  before  Jane  arrived 
home  in  the  evening. 

Poor,  vain,  silly  girl  I We  leave  her  where  this 
chapter  commenced,  confessing  at  the  feet  of  Father 
Keenan  in  Mag  O’Leary’s  house.  "Father,  forgive 
me,  for  I have  sinned.” 


CHAPTER  XV. 


MARY  MULLIGAN  ARRESTED.  — LARCENY  OF  SILK  DRESS 
AND  JEWELRY. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Flannigan.  How  do  I look 
today?”  asked  Mary  Mulligan,  addressing  the 
proprietor  of  the  restaurant  where  she  worked,  as 
she  sauntered  down  near  the  counter,  wearing  the 
silk  dress  and  jewelry  taken  from  the  room  of  Jane 
Meeker. 

" Why,  Maiy,  you  look  charming  and  bewitching 
enough  to  be  a bride,”  said  the  proprietor,  laugh- 
ing. 

" Ha  ! ha  ! ” said  Billy  the  Kid.  She  comes 
out  like  a butterfly  in  June.” 

" Yes,  be  jabers  ! Indeed  she  can  dress  fine. 
She  earns  her  money  aisy,”  responded  Pat 
Mooney,  showing  his  two  arms,  one  with  a cross 
tattooed  upon  it,  and  the  other  a handsome  woman. 
But  she ’s  not  half  as  handsome  as  that  woman  was 
when  I knew  her  in  my  younger  days.” 

"lYell,  Pat,  have  yer  had  a 'boose’  yet  this 
morning?”  the  Kid  asks  of  Mooney. 

"No,  Kid,”  says  Mooney,  "an’  it’s  dry  I am 
after  the  night.” 


152 


MAKY  MULLIGAN  ARRESTED. 


" Hush  ! ” the  Kid  says,  drawing  Mooney  into  a 
corner,  and  taking  a stolen  gold  ring  from  his 
pocket.  " I ’ll  ' shout  ’ for  the  crowd,  and  give 
him  this  in  payment.” 

So  the  Kid  goes  over  to  the  bar,  and  after  ar- 
ranging with  the  bar-tender,  he  calls  up  all  hands 
in  the  house. 

"Well,  boys,  what  are  you  going  to  have?” 

Some  call  for  beer,  others  for  gin,  and  some  for 
whiskey.  Various  toasts  are  offered. 

" Here ’s  to  yer  health.”  " Good  luck  to  yer  an’ 
all  yer  friends.”  "May  yer  get  a good  wife,  Billy ; 
a good  one,  a rich  one,  and  a fat  one ; an’  if  she 
has  no  silk  dress  or  jewelry  to  be  married  in,  I ’ll 
steal  her  some.” 

Mary,  hearing  the  words  " silk  dress,”  " jewelry,” 
and  " steal,”  changes  color ; a guilty  conscience 
accuses  her.  She  becomes  very  fidgety,  and  im- 
agines all  in  the  place  are  casting  side-glances  at 
her.  With  a burning  blush  upon  her  cheek,  she 
goes  into  the  kitchen,  and,  putting  on  her  things, 
she  goes  out  the  back  way  quietly  and  unobserved, 
and  does  not  look  behind  her  until  she  gets  into 
Tremont  Street,  when  she  pauses  for  breath,  and 
looking  down  Eliot  Street  and  seeing  a policeman 
standing  in  front  of  her  employer’s,  she  hurries 
rapidly  down  Tremont  Street  towards  the  North 
End.  Little  does  she  know  that  one  of  the  smart- 


LARCENY  OF  SILK  DRESS  AND  JEWELRY.  153 


est  detectiv^es  in  Boston — a regular  sleuthhound  — 
is  now  almost  walking  side  by  side  with  her.  lie 
wa-  in  the  saloon,  saw  her  leave,  and  is  now  upon 
her  track.  He  thinks  she  is  making  for  one  of  the 
northern  depots,  as  Jane  Meeker  has  told  him  a lit- 
tle of  her  history.  He  keeps  close  behind  until  they 
arrive  in  Ilaymarket  Square.  Here  Mary  stops 
and  looks  around.  Feeling  suspicious  that  some  one 
has  followed  her,  she  starts  into  Cross  Street,  and 
up  the  rickety  steps  into  Mag  O’Leary’s  lodging- 
house.  'While  going  up  the  stairs  she  also  saw  a 
policeman  coming  down  the  street.  This  added 
to  her  fright,  as  she  flew  to  the  room  of  Father 
Keenan.  " O Father  ! Father  ! ” falling  breathless 
upon  the  floor. 

” O Father,  I have  sinned,  I have  sinned  griev- 
ously,” Mary  ^Mulligan  continued  crying,  as  she 
crouched  at  the  feet  of  the  silenced  priest,  her  face 
upon  her  hands,  and  the  tears  streaming  from  her 
eyes. 

Understanding  human  nature  pretty  well,  for, 
as  a priest.  Father  Keenan  had  been  brought  in 
contact  with  all  kinds  of  sufferings,  he  waited 
patiently  until  the  storm  of  sorrow  and  anguish 
had  spent  itself  before  he  ventured  to  speak. 

" 'What  is  it  that  troubles  you,  my  dear  child  ?”  he 
asked,  after  the  sorrowing  girl  had  become  more 
calm ; and  as  he  spoke  he  stroked  back  the  long 


154 


MARY  MULLIGAN  ARRESTED. 


golden  tresses  from  her  brow,  and  his  tone  of 
voice  was  gentle ; for,  with  all  his  faults.  Father 
Keenan  had  a tender  heart,  and  when  serving  on 
the  mission  was  always  spoken  of  as  being  kind, 
patient,  and  loving  in  the  confessional. 

" O Father,  why  did  1 leave  n)y  good  home, 
and  come  to  this  sinful,  wicked  city?  Oh,  if  I had 
only  minded  mother  I would  n’t  be  here  to-day  ! 
Oh  ! oh  ! my  heart  is  breaking  I ” And  Mary  burst 
again  into  tears. 

"My  dear  child,”  said  the  priest,  "how  long 
have  you  been  in  Boston,  and  what  has  happened 
to  you  ? ” 

"O  Father,  I am  ruined  for  life  ! I am  lost,  I 
am  lost ! ” Mary  answered. 

"Try  and  calm  yourself,  my  child.  Do  you 
want  to  confess  ? ” 

"Yes,  yes.  Father,  hear  my  confession,  for  I 
have  been  so  sinful  that  should  I die  to-night  I 
would  be  damned  for  all  eternity.” 

Father  Keenan  took  from  his  inner  coat-pocket 
the  blessed  purple  stole,  now  soiled  so  much.  The 
sight  of  it,  now  that  he  was  sober,  brought  back 
memories  of  better  days, — brought  back  the  recol- 
lection of  that  day  when  he  came,  ordained  to  the 
priesthood,  from  the  grand  seminary,  and  cele- 
brated with  a beating  heart  his  first  mass.  Oh, 
what  a change  since  that  happy  day  I And  all 


LAKCENY  OF  SILK  DKESS  AND  JEWELRY.  155 


because  he  had  looked  upon  the  wine  when  it  was 
red.”  Kissing  the  little  white  cross  on  the  stole, 
he  placed  it  around  his  neck,  and,  turning  to  his 
fair  penitent,  he  raised  his  hand  and  blessed  her 
in  Latin. 

Then  he  said,  ” Mary,  God  forgive  me,  but  I 
know  not  whether  I do  wrong  or  not  in  hearing 
your  confession.  You,  poor  child,  will  not  go  to 
a regular  priest,  and,  perhaps  if  this  opportunity  is 
let  slip  by,  you  will  never  seek  confession  again, 
and  an  immortal  soul  will  be  lost  to  God : no,  I 
will  not  refuse.” 

” O Father,  you  have  just  as  much  power  as 
any  of  them  ! My  mother  always  taught  me,  and 
in  school  I was  also  told,  a priest  once  a priest 
forever, — a priest  in  heaven  or  a priest  in  hell.  ” 

Mary  then  blessed  herself,  and  said  the  usual 
act  of  contrition. 

The  priest  noticed  that  she  had  neither  her 
rosary  beads  or  prayer-book  with  her. 

After  she  had  finished  her  devotions,  the  priest 
said,  ” Mary,  you  did  not  use  your  beads  or  prayer- 
book  : I suppose  you  left  them  where  you  were 
stopping.” 

The  girl  blushed,  and  answered  timidly,  '^No, 
Father.” 

"What!  You  don’t  mean  to  say  you  came 
away  from  home  without  them  ? ” 


156 


MART  MULLIGAN  ARRESTED. 


"No,  Father,  I had  them  with  me  when  I came 
to  Boston.” 

"But  where  are  they,  my  dear  child?  You 
know  you  should  always  keep  them  with  you,  be- 
cause if  Protestants  get  hold  of  them  they  are  apt 
to  commit  a sacrilege,  and  then  the  sin  of  that 
would  be  on  your  soul.” 

" O Father,  forgive  me  ! ” cried  the  poor  heart- 
broken creature  ; "but  I know  I cannot  tell  a lie  in 
confession.  I threw  them  away.” 

The  priest  stood  aghast.  "Threw  them  away, 
— the  holy  emblems  of  your  faith  ! And  they 
blessed  too.  Ah,  no  wonder  misfortune  came 
upon  you,  my  child  I God  has  visited  you  with 
affliction  as  a punishment  for  your  profanation  of 
these  holy  things.  Oh,  how  much  penance  you  will 
have  to  do  for  this  ! It  will  take  indulgence  after 
indulgence  to  blot  out  the  sin.  Your  .scapulars, 
though,  you  always  wear,  and  say  the  prayers  pre 
scribed.” 

"No,  Father,”  answered  Mary,  trembling  all 
over  like  an  aspen  leaf.  " I threw  them  away 
with  the  rest.  O God,  forgive  me,  for  all  I have 
done  ! ” And  she  averted  her  head  that  the  priest, 
silenced  and  all  as  he  was,  might  not  see  how 
shamed  and  crestfallen  she  looked. 

" O child  of  sin  and  sorrow ! I know  not 
whether  1 am  defying  heaven  or  not  by  hearing 


LARCENY  OF  SILK  DRESS  AND  JEWELRY.  157 


your  confession.  You  know,  yourself,  as  well  as  I 
do,  that  it  is  only  the  bishop  who  can  absolve  a sin- 
ner in  such  cases  as  this.  God,  give  me  light  and 
strength  and  grace,”  continued  the  priest,  holding 
up  his  small  brass  crucifix  and  kissing  it,  ” to  do 
what  is  right  and  just.  O God,  I would  rather 
die  than  otfeud  thee : let  me  know  what  is  best  for 
all  ! ” 

lie  then  asked  Mary  what  she  had  done  since 
her  last  confession. 

]\Iary  proceeded  to  enumerate  how  she  had 
broken  the  difi'erent  commandments,  until  she 
came  to  the  seventh  (Catholic  version),  "Thou 
shalt  not  steal.”  Here  she  hesitated,  and  the 
priest  seeing  her  anguish,  said,  "Tell  me  all, 
daughter,  tell  me  all : you  know  what  a crime 
you  commit  by  concealing  a single  sin  in  confes- 
sion ; and  the  Chui’ch  teaches  us  that  they  who 
are  guilty  of  this  great  crime  will,  if  they  do  not 
repent,  go  straight  to  hell.” 

"O  Father,”  said  iVIary,  falling  upon  the  floor, 
on  her  face  and  hands,  " this  is  killing  me.  Oh  ! 
oh!” 

The  priest  thought  she  had  fallen  in  a swoon, 
and  was  going  to  call  assistance,  when  she  raised 
herself  upon  her  knees  again. 

" Father,  I have  sinned  against  God  and  Heaven 
by  breaking  the  Seventh  Commandment.  Oh,  can 


158 


MAKY  MULLIGAN  ARRESTED. 


I tell  it?  Oh,  must  I tell  it?  This  dress  upon 
my  back  ! These  jewels  on  my  hands  1 They  are 
coming, — the  police  ! The  police  ! ” 

In  came  two  policemen  and  seized  her  while 
upon  her  knees. 

"Oh,  kind  sirs,  don’t  take  me,  don’t  take  me! 
I did  n’t  mean  to  steal  them.  On  my  honor,  before 
God,  1 did  n’t.  I only  intended  to  borrow  them.” 
As  the  policemen  drew  near  to  arrest  her,  she 
clung  to  the  priest’s  knees,  and  cried  out,  "Oh, 
spare  me  I For  God’s  sake,  spare  me  I ” Turning  to 
Father  Keenan,  "O  Father,  save  me  I Save  me  1” 
The  cries  of  Mary  Mulligan  on  her  knees  before 
the  officers  of  the  law  were  heartrending. 

"Come,  come,”  said  the  detective,  showing  his 
badge : " we  cannot  stay  here  all  day.” 

" Oh,  my  God  I Oh,  hear  me,  kind  sirs  1 Oh, 
you,  sir,”  turning  towards  the  big,  burly  policeman, 
" you  have  daughters  of  your  own : you  can  sym- 
pathize with  me,  you  can  pity  me.  Oh,  kind  sir, 
intercede  for  me  that  I may  not  go  to  prison  ! My 
mother,  oh,  my  mother!  This  will  break*  her 
heart ! ” 

The  policemen  approached  and  caught  her  by 
the  arras.  She  struggled  and  shrieked  and 
screamed.  "Oh,  do  not  touch  me!  Do  not  lay 
hands  on  me  ! Take  me  to  Jane  Meeker’s  ! Then 
I will  explain  all ! Oh,  my  foolish  pride  I Oh, 


LAKCENY  OF  SILK  DKESS  AND  JEWELRY.  159 

what  induced  me  to  put  on  those  things  ? May 
God  forgive  you  your  sins,  Sam  Skillins ! See 
what  you  have  brought  me  to  !” 

At  the  mention  of  Skillins’s  name  the  detective 
started,  and  said,  mentally,  ” What,  can  this  be 
another  victim  of  that  noted  villain?” 

The  policemen  had  to  drag  her  to  the  stairs,  and 
her  pleadings  were  most  pitiful  to  hear.  ” Oh,  do 
not  take  me  to  the  cold,  cold  prison  ! I never  was 
in  prison  ! Oh,  believe  me,  kind  sirs,  I never  stole 
anything  in  my  life  I O Father  Keenan,  will  you 
not  save  me  ? Will  you  not  save  me?  You  have 
the  power.  You  have  the  power.  Exercise  it, 
then,  O holy  Father,  in  my  behalf.  Command 
these  men  to  desist,  and  they  will  have  to  go.” 
When  on  the  head  of  the  stairs,  Mary  tore  her- 
self from  the  grasp  of  the  officers,  and  throwing 
herself  on  her  knees,  poured  out  a mournful 
prayer  of  supplication  to  the  Virgin.  "O  good 
and  holy  mother,  Mary,  deliver  me.  O 'refuge  of 
sinners,’  come  to  my  aid.  O my  mother  in 
heaven,  I have  always  been  faithful  to  you.  I have 
worn  your  scapulars.  I have  said  the  prayers 
regularly.  You  will  not  see  me  taken.  No  I no  !” 
And  Mary  Mulligan,  full  of  the  faith  inspired  by 
her  early  teachings,  longed  to  have  the  scapulars 
she  threw  away,  that  she  might  hold  them  before 
her  as  a shield  and  bid  defiance  to  the  law  or  any- 
thing else  to  touch  her. 


160 


MARY  MULLIGAN  ARRESTED. 


But  neither  the  power  of  the  priest  nor  faith  in 
the  scapulars  could  avail  her,  and  Mary  was 
taken  to  the  station-house  close  by.  When  on  the 
street,  she  ceased  her  cries,  fearing  to  attract  atten- 
tion to  herself,  but  once  inside  the  door  of  the 
lock-up  she  commenced  anew  : — 

" Oh,  I cannot  go  in  there  ! I never  stole  them  ! 
I never  stole  them  1 My  poor,  poor  mother  I 
Would  that  I had  never  left  your  side  ! ” 

"Ciiptain,”  said  the  detective  to  an  elderly  and, 
as  Mary  thought,  kindly  looking  gentleman,  "she 
refuses  to  tell  where  she  came  from,  so  that  I will 
have  to  see  this  Meeker  girl  and  find  out  where 
her  home  is  and  telegraph  to  her  parents.” 

" O Captain,  do  not  let  him  go  ! ” said  Mary,  as 
she  knelt  before  the  officer  and  caught  his  hand, 
upon  which  she  printed  many  kisses,  — " do  not  let 
him  go.  Is  it  not  enough  to  break  my  heart  with- 
out breaking  my  mother’s  also  ? I am  as  innocent 
of  the  crime  of  stealing  as  the  babe  unborn.  But 
I have  been  unfortunate.  My  future  life  and 
hopes  have  been  almost  blasted  forever.  But, 
good,  kind  sir,  if  you  will  let  me  go  I will  return 
home  ; I will  never  come  to  this  city  again  ; and, 
O mother,  will  I not  do  everything  for  you,  and 
never  disobey  you  or  cause  you  to  get  in  anymore 
trouble  ? O mother ! mother,  dear ! never  did  I 
know  the  value  of  a mother’s  love  till  now.” 


LARCENY  OF  SILK  DRESS  AND  JEWELRY.  161 

The  captain  then  made  a record  of  her  name, 
age,  crime,  and  other  minor  details,  but  gained  his 
knowledge  from  the  detective,  as  he  could  get 
nothing  from  the  girl  but  sighs  and  sobs. 

A station  officer  was  ordered  to  place  her  in  as 
clean  and  decent  a cell  as  the  place  afforded.  All 
this  was  in  consideration  of  her  beautiful  face, — for 
even  a policeman  knows  a good  thing  when  he 
sees  it,  — and  the  captain  was  not  insensible  to  the 
fact  that  the  fair  one  before  him  was  possessed  of 
extraordinary  beauty  for  one  of  lowly  birth. 

Mary,  seeing  that  the  captain  had  cast  a pitying 
glance  upon  her,  thought  that,  by  pleading  with 
him,  he  might  possibly  release  her,  or  at  least  in- 
tercede for  her,  so  that  she  might  regain  her  free- 
dom. 

Now,  much  as  some  people  may  doubt  it,  police- 
men have  hearts  as  well  as  any  one  else,  but  they 
become  hardened  by  too  close  contact  with  sin, 
misery,  crime,  and  degradation. 

Mary  knelt  as  before,  watching  with  the  most 
intense  anxiety  for  some  sign  of  compassion,  some 
movement  in  the  features  of  those  before  her,  — men 
who  see  so  much  of  the  dark  side  of  life,  — to  show 
that  her  pleadings,  almost  as  if  for  her  life,  had  not 
been  in  vain. 

Captain,  you,  I am  sure,  will  pity  my  dis- 
tress and  misfortune  I I see  a look  of  compassion 
11 


162 


MARY  3IULLIGAN  ARRESTED. 


in  your  eyes  for  my  sufferings.”  Here  the  captain 
turned  away  to  conceal  his  emotion.  "You  have 
children  of  your  own,  and  you  look  as  if  you  had 
a tender  heart.  You  have  a daughter,  perhaps, 
about  my  age.  Your  heart,  and  that  of  her 
mother,  are  set  upon  that  girl.  What  would  you 
say,  — how  would  her  mother  feel,  — if  she  was  to 
be  cast  into  a cold,  damp  cell,  to  languish  for  a 
whole  night  ? ” 

The  station  officer  and  another  policeman  then 
took  the  sorrowing  girl,  while  still  on  her  knees, 
and  dragged  her  step  by  step  to  the  cell.  The 
captain,  with  her  pleadings  still  ringing  in  his  ears, 
went  into  another  room  that  he  might  not  witness 
the  struggle.  He  would  have  gladly  released  her 
then  and  there  had  he  dared  to,  but  he  knew  full 
well  that  the  law  must  take  its  course.  In  his 
own  heart  he  believed  her  innocent  of  the  crime 
she  was  charged  with,  and  said  so  afterwards. 

" Oh  God  ! Oh  God  ! Are  you  going  to  put 
me  in  that  dungeon?  ” cried  poor  Mary.  "Hear 
me.  I will  do  anything  you  say  if  you  do  not  cast 
me  in  there.  Beat,  if  you  will.  Nay,  rather  kill 
me  than  have  this  disgrace  come  upon  me  and  my 
name.  O men,  you  have  wives,  you  have  daugh- 
ters, and  yet  you  hearken  not  to  a poor,  friendless 
girl  alone  in  a strange  city  ! ” And  her  shrieks  and 
moans  rent  the  air. 


LARCENY  OF  SILK  DRESS  AND  JEWELRY.  163 


They  forced  her  gently  into  the  cell,  and,  after 
shutting  the  heavy  grating  door,  turned  the  bolts 
and  locks.  iMary,  turning  round  and  looking  out 
between  the  bars,  said,  " I cannot  live  and  suffer 
like  this.  My  blood  be  upon  you  1 ” and  fell  in  a 
swoon  upon  the  little  narrow  couch  that  was  to  be 
her  bed  that  niMit. 

O 

d'he  detective  then  informed  the  captain  of  what 
had  transpired,  and  he  ordered  a watch  to  be  set, 
as  he  feared  by  the  poor  unfortunate  girl’s  declara- 
tion that  she  meditated  suicide. 

That  night  a telegram  was  sent  to  Lawrence, 
and  from  thence  to  James  Mulligan’s  house. 

Boston, . 

Your  daughter  Mary  is  in  the  Tombs  for  larceny.  Trial 
to-morrow  morning  at  nine  o’clock.  Come. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


EFFECT  OF  THE  TELEGRAM. A MOTHER’S  GRIEF  AND 

father’s  anger.  — NIGHT  OF  SAD  LAMENTATIONS. 

This  startling  intelligence  fell  like  a thunder- 
bolt on  the  Mulliwn  household. 

O 

Their  petted,  idolized  child  a thief!  Their 
bright-eyed,  beautiful  Mary  arrested  and  dis- 
graced ! Oh  I it  could  not  be  I 

James  Mulligan,  though  American  born,  was  of 
Irish  descent.  He  was  a sincere  Catholic,  and 
Mary  had  been  brought  up  under  the  strictest 
tenets  of  tlmt  faith.  The  family  had  been  pros- 
perous, and  held  their  heads  above  their  neighbors. 
But  this  cruel  blow  crushed  their  pride  and 
humbled  them  to  the  dust. 

" Oh,  my  poor,  poor,  sinful  child  I ” cried  Mrs. 
Mulligan,  wringing  her  hands  frantically.  " Oh, 
there  must  be  some  mistake  ; it  cannot,  cannot  be 
our  Mary  I We  have  brought  her  up  to  be  honest 
and  virtuous : she  could  not  steal  or  do  wrong  I 
Speak  to  me,  James  — husband  I Comfort  me, 
for  heaven’s  sake  I Tell  me  that  you  do  not 
believe  it ’s  our  little  Mary  I Oh,  I should  die  if 
our  daughter  has  fallen  so  low  ! ” 


A mother’s  grief  and  father’s  anger.  165 


And  in  her  agony  of  doubt  and  dread  the  pool- 
mother  clasped  her  hands,  and  fell  on  her  knees 
before  her  husband. 

James  Mulligan  had  sat  motionless,  with  the 
telegram  crushed  and  crumpled  in  his  hand.  No 
word  had  he  uttered  since  reading  those  fatal  lines. 
He  had  fondly  loved  this  youngest  daughter ; her 
beauty  had  been  his  pride  and  boast ; her  dis- 
grace shocked  and  grieved  him  to  the  core.  But 
being  a stern  and  unrelenting  man,  he  felt  he 
could  never  forgive  her,  never  see  her  again.  She 
was  no  longer  a daughter  of  his,  and  he  cast  her 
out  forever  from  his  heart.  His  wife’s  lam- 
entations had  no  effect  upon  him  in  his  present 
mood. 

"O  James,  my  husband,  why  don’t  you  speak 
to  me?”  she  continued  to  plead,  seeking  in  vain 
to  move  him.  " Has  your  heart  turned  to  stone  ? 
Why  don’t  you  deny  this  horrid  tale  ? Tell  me 
you  do  not  believe  it  can  be  our  darling  Mary  ! ” 

" Ay,  but  I do  believe  it ’s  her  ! ” he  exclaimed 
at  last,  springing  from  his  chair  and  striding  up 
and  down  the  room  in  f?rcat  agitation. 

"No!  no!  Jamie,  for  the  love  of  the  Holy 
Virgin,  do  not  say  that ! ” cried  the  distracted 
mother,  catching  him  by  the  arm. 

He  flung  her  off  savagely,  tuining  upon  her  with 
lowering  brow  and  clinched  fists,  while  she  shrank 


166 


EFFECT  OF  THE  TELEGRAM. 


back,  fearing  that  grief  had  driven  him  crazy,  and 
that  he  was  about  to  strike  her. 

" 1 tell  you,  woman,”  he  said,  harshly,  ''that  it’s 
all  your  fault  if  the  girl  has  gone  wrong.  You 
have  petted  and  pampered  her,  and  sent  her  to 
boarding-school  and  dancing  school,  while  the 
rest  of  the  children  have  had  to  dig  an  i delve. 
You’ve  turned  her  silly  head  with  your  high-toned 
notions,  made  her  vain,  and  fond  of  finery  and  frip- 
pery, and  now  you  see  the  result ! ” 

”0  James  Mulligan,  can  this  be  you?  It’s 
out  of  your  senses  you  are,  sure  ! IIow  can  you 
talk  like  this  of  poor  Mary,  she  who  was  your 
pet?  lias  your  heart  turned  to  gall?  Have  you 
no  love  left  for  our  poor  child  because  she  has 
yielde.l  to  some  terrible  temptation?  Perhaps  she 
has  lost  the  money  we  gave  her.  Perhaps,  — O 
my  God  ! — perhaps  our  lamb  has  fallen  into  the 
power  of  some  villain,  and  has  been  led  into 
crime  to  save  herself  from  starvation  or  worse  ! ” 

This  terrible  susfijestion  seemed  to  have  some 
effect  on  the  man,  for  he  trembled  violently  and 
ofave  her  a startled  look.  But  he  mastered  the 
emotion  and  again  looked  stern  and  unforgiving, 
as  he  said,  — 

” That  is  no  excuse.  Mary  should  have  written 
and  explained  why  she  failed  to  go  to  her  sister 
Kate’s.  She  is  a deceiver  and  an  ingrate.  God 


A mother’s  grief  and  father’s  anger.  167 


knows  how  I have  loved  her,  — loved  her  as  the 
ap[)leof  my  eye.  But  I never  indulged  her  in  her 
idle  hincies.  That  was  your  work,  woman,  and 
bitterly  you  will  rue  it,  now  when  it’s  too  late.” 

” Oh,  you  cruel,  heartless  father ! How  can 
you  talk  so,  and  your  daughter  in  prison ! Oh, 
then  I will  fly  to  her,  — would  fly  this  very  night, 
if  there  were  any  way  to  get  to  Boston  ! Mary 
may  have  sinned,  but  she  is  still  our  child.” 

" Go,  if  you  choose,  wife,”  said  James  Mulli- 
gan, ” but  do  not  bring  Mary  back  to  my  house  ; 
she  shall  never  darken  my  doors  as  long  as  she 
lives  : she  has  deceived  us,  pretending  all  these 
weeks  to  be  at  her  sister  Kate’s  iiiBoxbury.  No  ! 
no  ! She  has  made  her  bed  and  now  she  may  lie 
in  it.  I cast  her  off  forever  ! ” 

" O James,  you  cannot  mean  it ! Take  back 
those  harsh  words  ! ” cried  Mrs.  Mulligan  ; but  he 
shook  his  head  resolutely. 

''Then  may  God  forgive  you,  James  Mulligan  1 
I,  at  least,  will  not  desert  our  child.  I will  seek 
her,  even  in  prison,  and  comfort  and  forgive  her, 
if  3^ou  will  not.  Oh,  how  can  I wait  till  morn- 
ing? Oh,  how  can  I leave  little  Jamie,  sick  unto 
death  as  he  is?  But  God  points  the  way.  Jamie 
is  at  home  and  in  good  hands,  but  my  darling 
Mary  is  among  strangers,  and  in  a prison  cell,  for- 
saken by  all,” 


168 


EFFECT  OF  THE  TELEGRAM. 


Throughout  that  drcaiy  night  the  poor  woman 
did  not  once  close  her  eyes.  She  could  only 
moan  and  cry  over  the  name  of  her  daughter. 

"O  Mary,  Mary!  My  poor  little  lamb.  God 
help  you,  my  darling,  alone  in  jail  I O Holy 
Virgin,  mother  of  God,  friend  and  comforter  of 
the  afflicted,  give  peace  to  my  child’s  sinful 
soul ! Oh,  would  that  the  morning  would  come  I 
Oh,  how  can  I wait?  IIow  stay  away  so  long  from 
my  daughter’s  side? 

" Come,  come,  children,  kneel  down  here  with 
me,  and  we  will  say  the  rosary  to  her  who  was 
nev(  r known  to  forsake  any  one  who  implored  her 
help  in  time  of  trouble. 

" Ah,  James,  will  you  not  come  and  join  us,  too, 
in  our  [U’ayer  of  supplication  to  the  Mother  of  Sor- 
rows? MTio  knows  but  perhaps  God  has  sent  us 
this  affliction  as  a chastisement  for  our  sins?” 

At  this  appeal  the  husband  was  touched,  and 
relented.  He  cried  out,  "O  Annie,  forgive  me 
for  being  angry ; but  to  think  that  this  is  Mary’s 
gratitude  after  all  we  have  done  ! ” 

And  that  little  fomily,  all  so  happy  before  this 
sorrow,  knelt  and  prayed  to  the  Virgin  to  protect 
their  child.  Mrs.  Mulligan  recited  the  prayers, 
and  the  responses  were  answered,  by  the  others. 
Outside  this  little  cottage  all  nature  seemed  in 
sympathy  with  their  agony.  The  moon  and  stars 


A mother’s  grief  and  father’s  anger.  169 


looked  kindly  down  in  compassion,  and  the  winds 
moaned  dismally,  and  the  river,  flowing  silently 
on,  seemed  to  murmur  a fervent  Amen  to  the 
pleadings  of  that  grief-stricken  assemblage. 

Every  whistle  of  the  night  freight  trains  sounded 
as  a call  to  that  distracted  mother  to  hasten  to  the 
prison  cell  of  her  darling  child.  The  cries  and 
groans  of  the  little  sick  one  in  the  crib  sent  a dag- 
ger through  her  heart.  She  asked  herself,  " O 
God,  have  I raised  a child  for  such  ignominy  as 
this?”  and,  bending  down,  she  kissed  the  child, 
and  tried  to  soothe  and  comfort  it  with  tender 
caresses,  as  only  a heart-stricken  mother  can  do. 

With  tears  and  vain  sorrowings  the  night  slowly 
wore  away  to  that  broken-hearted  mother.  Now 
at  the  bedside  of  her  sick  boy,  ministering  to  his 
wants  and  comforting  him;  anon,  casting  herself 
upon  her  knees  before  a crucifix  or  a picture  of  the 
Virgin,  and  praying  for  her  absent  daughter,  the 
inmate  of  a felon’s  cell.  Oh,  the  agony  of  that 
night ! May  that  poor  mother  never  know  another 
such  a night  as  this  I 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


HARY’s  fearful  night  in  the  tombs. ARRAIGNED  IN 

COURT. GUILTY  OR  NOT  GUILTY? 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Mary  Mulligan 
found  herself  an  inmate  of  the  Tombs,  whither 
ehe  liad  been  transferred  in  the  prison  van  from 
the  police  station.  Alone,  shut  out  from  all  inter- 
course with  her  kind,  no  wonder  her  soul  sickened 
Avith  horror.  A tenderly  nutured  girl,  not  yet  out 
of  her  teens,  the  oigect  of  deep  parental  solicitude, 

— petted,  humored,  spoiled,  indeed,  — beautiful 
and  accomplished  enough  to  adorn  a high  station 
in  society,  and  yet  she  had  come  to  this,  — a prison 
cell  and  a felon’s  fate  ! Regret,  remorse,  repentance, 

— all  were  working  in  her  soul.  She  Avas  aAvak- 
ening  noAV  to  a realizing  sense  of  her  follj^  deceit, 
and  ingratitude,  — ingratitude  toAvard  her  parents 
and  to  her  benefactor,  Jane  Meeker. 

” Oh,  why  did  I ever  leave  my  dear  home  ! ” she 
moaned,  pacing  the  narrow  cell,  Avhile  tears  of 
bitter  anguish  suffused  her  face.  " Why  did  I for- 
sake the  teachings  of  my  dear  mother  ? O mother  ! 
mother  ! what  will  you  say  when  they  tell  you  of 


ARRAIGNED  IN  COURT. 


171 


my  dishonor  and  disgrace?  Oh,  oh,  I cannot  bear 
the  thought ! I shall  go  mad  ! ” 

And  fora  moment  the  poor  misguided  girl  gave 
way  to  a violent  outburst  of  hysterical  grief.  The 
place  rang  with  her  cries  and  shrieks,  which  at  last 
died  away  in  low,  [)itiful  sobbings,  as  she  contin- 
ued, — 

" xVnd  my  dear  father,  who  loves  me  so  fondly, 
what,  oh  what  will  he  say?  How  his  proud  heart 
will  be  rung  by  m}^  conduct ! He  will  never,  newer 
forgive  me.  1 shall  never  see  his  loving  smile 
again.  He  will  never  fondle  and  caress  his  little 
Miiiy,  as  he  used  to  call  me  ; never  take  me  in  his 
arms  and  call  me  his  pet  and  darling.  Oh,  what 
have  I not  lost  by  my  sin  and  folly!  Would  to 
heaven  I could  die  right  here  I Oh,  if  I could  only 
kill  myself,  and  never  look  a human  being  in  the 
face  again.  O God,  pity  and  forgive  me  ! Oh, 
do  not  let  me  live  to  see  another  day  I ” 

And  in  her  despair  she  flung  herself  upon  the 
cold  stones  of  the  floor,  and  grovelled  there  like  a 
demented  creature,  careless  of  the  cold  and  damp, 
and  tearing  savagely  at  her  long,  beautiful  hair  in 
the  fearful  paroxysm  of  her  distress. 

How  many  such  cruel  scenes  of  misery  and  suf- 
fering have  those  senseless  stones  witnessed  I If 
the  walls  of  the  Tombs  could  speak,  what  fearful 
agonies  might  they  reveal,  what  tales  of  sin  and 


172  Mary’s  fearful  night  in  the  tombs. 


slmiiie,  of  hoart-rc'iiding  woes  and  grief!  What 
awful  crimes,  what  direful  tragedies,  and  what 
wofnl  social  mysteries  that  never  hnd  their  way 
into  the  court  records  nor  are  blazoned  forthan  the 
police  reports  of  the  newspaners  1 

As  night  drew  on,  the  horrors  of  Mary  Mulli- 
gan’s situation  increased  tenfold.  The  daylight 
bustle  ceased.  The  rattle  of  carts  and  teams  and 
the  murmur  of  human  voices,  which  penetrated 
even  to  that  dtirk  and  dismal  place,  gradually  died 
away.  The  only  sounds  to  be  heard  were  the  slow 
footsteps  of  an  officer  in  the  corridors  without, 
ringing  with  startling  distinctness  on  the  pave- 
ments amid  the  deep  silence,  varied  now  and  then 
l)y  oaths  and  yells  and  savage  howls  proceeding 
from  some  drunken  or  maddened  wretch  in  the 
adjoining  cells. 

Poor  girl  I Hard  is  the  heart  that  cannot  sym- 
pathize with  your  distress ; callous  the  soul  that 
can  contemplate  your  terrible  situation  without  pity 
and  compassion  I You  have  sinned,  have  fallen 
from  woman’s  high  estate,  have  bartered  woman’s 
most  priceless  jewel,  sacrificed  home,  friends, 
parents,  reputation,  to  indulge  a capricious  vanity 
and  love  of  admiration,  but  bitter  and  terrible  is 
the  atonement  before  you  I 

And  now  superstition  assumed  it’s  sway  over  the 
girl’s  soul.  She  shivered  with  fear  and  dread  as 


AKRAIGNED  IN  COURT. 


173 


the  stillness  became  more  profound,  and  the  mid- 
night hour  came  and  passed.  Oh,  for  one  hour’s 
sleep  ! Oh,  for  the  power  to  shut  out  the  horrid 
visions  that  beset  her  imagination ! But  con- 
science was  too  terribly  alive  to  permit  of  slum- 
ber. 

"Oh,  if  I could  only  die!”  she  moaned,  pas- 
sionately beating  her  brow.  " How  can  I survive 
this  awful  night?  Oh,  if  I could  only  live  the  past 
five  weeks  of  my  life  over  again  1 Oh,  why  did 
I not  go  to  my  sister's  house  at  once,  as  mother 
bade  me,  and  not  stop  a moment  in  Boston  ? What 
a silly,  wicked  girl  I was  to  listen  to  that  artful 
Sam  Skillins.  I ought  to  have  known  that  he  was 
a base  deceiver,  a wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing,  seek- 
ing only  my  ruin.  Oh,  oh,  oh  1 what  will  become 
of  me?  I am  lost,  lost,  forever  lost  I ” 

Another  paroxysm  succeeded  as  she  shrieked 
the  last  words  aloud  in  her  agony  of  soul ; and 
flying  to  the  barred  door  of  the  cell,  she  beat  upon 
it  until  her  delicate  hands  were  bruised  and  bleed- 
ing, as  she  piteously  begged  for  some  one  to 
release  her  from  confinement. 

But  all  in  vain.  Her  cries  were  unheeded,  and 
at  last  she  crawled  to  her  mattress  and  fell  upon 
it,  exhausted  wellnigh  unto  death. 

Slowly,  slowly  the  hours  passed,  mid  sighs, 
and  groans,  and  tears.  Suddenly,  the  light  of 


174  mart’s  fearful  night  in  the  tombs. 

dawn  streamed  into  the  cell,  and  aroused  her 
scattered  senses  to  the  thought  of  what  she  must 
soon  undergo,  — a public  trial. 

"Oh!”  she  cried,  springing  wildly  to  her  feet, 
"how  can  I face  all  those  people  in  court;  how 
meet  the  stern  eye  of  the  judge,  or  the  gaze  of 
the  curious  and  unpitying  crowd?  O Holy 
Virgin,  help  me  I” — flinging  herself  on  her  knees 
and  crossing  herself,  — "pity  and  forgive  me. 
Forgive  me  for  forgetting  my  mother’s  precepts, 
and  disi  arding  my  rosary  and  scapular  I Oh,  be 
merciful  to  me,  Holy  Mother  of  God;  be  merciful 
and  help  me  I ” 

Pallid  and  haggard  from  Avant  of  sleep,  faint 
and  weak  from  lack  of  food  (for  the  poor  girl  could 
not  eat  a morsel  of  breakfast  when  it  was  brought 
to  her),  Mary  Mulligan  at  length  was  led  to  the 
dock  and  heard  her  case  called  by  the  clerk  of  the 
court. 

"Mary  Mulligan,  you  are  charged  Avith  the 
larceny  of  clothing  and  jeAvelry,  valued  in  all  at 
forty-flve  dollars.  Are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?” 

Mary,  standing  in  the  dock,  Avas  the  cynosure 
of  every  eye.  Her  beauty  rendered  more  inter- 
esting by  the  pallor  of  her  features,  and  the  look 
of  pain  and  fright  upon  them,  struck  every  be- 
holder. The  spectators,  the  officers  of  the  court, 
the  judge  himself,  even  the  hardened  occupants  of 


ARRAIGNED  IN  COURT. 


175 


the  clock  awaiting  their  turn  for  trial,  all  felt  that 
she  was  no  ordinary  criminal,  and  kindly  looks 
were  bent  upon  her,  and  even  words  of  encourage- 
ment whispered  into  her  ear. 

"You  must  plead  to  this  charge,  my  child,”  said 
the  judge,  gently,  as  Mary  hesitated  and  almost 
burst  into  tears. 

But  a sudden  courage  came  to  her  aid  — the 
courage  of  desperation  — and  clasping  her  hands 
vehemently  together,  she  cried  : — 

" Oh,  sir,  I am  guilty  ! A guilty,  wicked,  and 
very  wretched  girl ! Yes,  I took  the  clothes  and 
jewelry,  but  as  Heaven  hears  me,  sir,  I meant  to 
return  them  at  night.  I only  intended  to  wear 
them  for  a day,  and  then  restore  them  to  their 
owner.  Oh,  sir,  where  is  my  accuser?  Where 
is  Jane  Meeker?  Do  with  me  as  you  will,  but  let 
me  first  ask  pardon  of  my  benefactor,  she  who 
took  me  in  on  that  night  of  storm ; who  gave  me 
food,  warmth,  and  shelter,  and  saved  me  from 
despair  and  death  when  I had  not  a friend  in  the 
world.  Let  me  first  obtain  Jane  Meeker’s  for- 
giveness for  my  ingratitude  and  my  crime.” 

As  she  paused,  with  her  hands  stretched  out 
appealingly,  and  the  tears  now  streaming  down 
her  youthful  countenance,  many  of  those  present 
were  visibly  moved.  The  judge,  accustomed 
though  he  was  to  such  scenes,  felt  his  heart  thrill 


176  Mary’s  fearful  night  in  the  tombs. 

with  pity,  and  beckoned  to  the  clerk,  with  whom 
he  held  a moment’s  consultation, 

''Jane  Meeker ! ” cried  the  clerk,  as  he  stepped 
back  to  his  place.  "Is  Jane  Meeker  in  court?” 
he  added  to  the  officer  who  had  arrested  Mary. 

"I  notified  her  to  appear,”  said  the  policeman. 
"Ah,  here  she  is  ! ” 

Jane  came  forward  and  addressed  the  judge  in 
a low  tone,  telling  hira^that  if  it  could  be  avoided 
she  had  no  desire  to  have  the  prisoner  prosecuted, 
and  indeed  had  not  authorized  her  arrest. 

"I  pity  the  poor  girl,  your  Honor,”  she  contin- 
ued ; " pity  her  too  much  to  wish  her  any  harm. 
I am  now  convinced,  too,  that  she  did  not  intend 
to  steal  my  property,  but  took  it  merely  in  a freak 
of  vanity.  She  has  suffered  very  much  already, 
sir,  and  Heaven  forbid  that  I should  add  to  her 
cup  of  misery,  which  is  already  full  to  overflow- 
ing.” 

Surprised  and  interested  at  these  words  on  the 
part  of  the  principal  witness  for  the  prosecution, 
the  magistrate  questioned  Jane  further  as  to  her 
knowledge  of  Mar^^’s  antecedents,  and  drew  from 
her  the  story  how  Mary  had  come  to  Boston  to 
visit  her  sister,  of  the  trap  that  had  been  laid  for 
her  in  the  Eliot  Street  restaurant,  of  the  mock 
marriage,  and  Sam  Skillins’s  final  desertion  of  his 
victim. 


ARRAIGNED  IN  COURT. 


177 


"This  matter  shall  be  looked  into,”  said  the 
judge,  deeply  afTected  at  the  tale  ; and,  calling  a 
detective,  who  was  in  court,  he  gave  him  some 
instructions,  saying,  in  conclusion,  — 

"You  will  endeavor  to  bring  this  man  Skillins 
into  court  within  an  hour  if  possible.” 

The  detective  bowed  and  withdrew.  As  he 
passed  through  the  room  he  cast  a significant 
glance  at  Mary,  who,  at  the  mention  of  " 8killins,” 
trembled  and  almost  fell  to  the  floor  while  holdinof 
on  to  the  bar.  The  name  of  Skillins  conjured  up 
a world  of  horrors  to  her  soul,  — her  first  nimit 
in  Boston,  — her  first  false  step,  — her  gilded  prison 
room,  — the  wine,  — the  agony  of  her  first  offence, 
— the  mock  marriage,  — her  desertion,  — her  de- 
spair and  longings  for  death,  — that  terrible  night 
of  suffering  and  torture  in  the  snowy  street,  — all 
these  and  more  yet,  now  must  she  meet  this  fiend 
and  monster  face  to  face  in  open  court  ? 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


MOTHER  TO  THE  RESCUE. BRIDE  OF  AN  HOUR. PRISON 

OR  ALTAR,  WHICH? 

At  this  moment  a shriek  was  heard  outside  the 
court-room  door.  A woman’s  voice,  in  piercing 
accents,  cried  to  the  officer  on  guard,  — 

"Oh  ! tell  me,  sir;  where  is  my  child?  Is  this 
the  court  ? Is  my  daughter  here  ? ” 

The  officer  looked,  and  saw  a plainly  dressed 
country  woman,  haggard,  pale,  with  hair  dishev- 
elled, her  features  convulsed  and  agitated,  standing 
before  him. 

" Oh,  sir  ! ” she  continued,  frantically,  "my  Mary 
was  the  best  of  girls.  She  never  stole  anything  in 
her  life.  It  can’t  be  her.  Yet  the  telegram  said 
she  had  been  arrested  for  stealing,  and  the  trial 
was  set  for  nine  o’clock  to-day.  Oh,  I want  to 
see  my  daughter,  sir  ! Tell  me  if  she  is  here.  Oh, 
my  Mary  can’t  be  guilty ! No,  no,  I will  not 
believe  it  till  I hear  it  from  her  own  lips  ! ” 

" But  what  is  your  daughter’s  naaae  ? ” asked  the 
officer,  moved  by  the  woman’s  distress. 

"Mary  Mulligan;  and  a good,  honest  girl  she 
is,  sir;  true  to  her  faith,  true  to  her  God  I Oh, 


PRISON  OR  ALTAR,  WHICH  ? 


179 


she  would  never  steal ! Tell  me,  tell  me  that  I am 
not  too  late  ! Oh,  do  not  tell  me  that  my  dear 
child  has  been  found  guilty  and  already  sentenced 
to  jail ! Oh,  let  me  see  her ! I must  see  my 
child ! ” 

As  that  startling  cry  rang  through  the  court- 
room, it  electrified  every  heart,  and  every  eye  was 
turned  toward  the  vestibule. 

The  door  opened.  Another  shriek,  as  the  eyes 
of  mother  and  daughter  met  in  lightning  flash 
across  that  wide  court-room. 

" Oh,  my  daughter  ! have  I found  you  ? ” 

”Oh,  my  mother!  There  she  is  at  the  door! 
Oh,  let  me  speak  to  her  I Mother  I mother  ! ” 
throwing  up  her  arms  from  the  dock,  leaning  over 
the  prisoner’s  stand. 

A silence  like  the  hush  of  death  fell  on  that 
court-room.  As  by  a spell  of  enchantment,  all 
were  struck  speechless,  motionless. 

Not  an  officer  interposed  as  that  aged  mother 
struggled  through  the  agitated  throng,  and  tot- 
tered, weak  and  almost  fainting,  up  the  long  aisle 
toward  the  dock. 

"My  child!  oh,  my  dearest  Mary!”  she  cried, 
the  tears  flowing  over  her  wrinkled  face. 

" Mother ; dear,  dear  mother,  have  you  come ; 
have  you  come  to  save  me  ? ” 

And  Mary,  leaning  over  the  railing,  wound  her 


180 


MOTHER  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


fair  arms  around  her  mother’s  neck  until  her  golden 
locks  swept  the  gray  head  of  her  parent,  and  their 
tears  flowed  and  mingled  to<2:ether. 

”Oh,  my  darling!  Oh,  my  blessed  daughter! 
I feared  I should  not  find  you.  They  told  me  you 
had  been  arrested  and  would  be  sent  to  jail.  Oh, 
I cannot  part  with  you,  darling;  I cannot  let  you 
go  to  jail!  Mary ! Mary,  my  pet,  tell  them  you 
are  innocent ; tell  them  you  are  not  a thief ! ” 

" Oh,  mother,  forgive  me ; I did  not  mean  to 
steal  those  things,”  pointing  to  Jane  Meeker’s  dress 
and  jewelry  lying  on  the  clerk’s  table ; ” I only 
meant  to  wear  them  once,  then  put  them  back 
again.  I would  not  steal  for  the  world  1 Oh  ! 
oh!  do  not  cry  so,  mother  dear,”  as  Mrs.  Mulli- 
gan’s tears  broke  out  afresh,  and  heart-rending 
sobs  agitated  her  frame.  " Oh,  say  you  forgive 
me,  mother!  Tell  me  that  you  do  not  believe 
your  Mary  is  a thief ! ” 

" No,  no  ; I know  you  are  not  guilty  ! ” cried  the 
aged  woman,  pressing  her  daughter’s  cheek  against 
her  withered  face,  and  smoothing  her  silken 
tresses,  while  torrents  of  tears  streamed  from  her 
eyes.  "I  forgive  you,  my  darling!  May  God 
have  mercy  and  save  you  from  all  harm ! ” 

It  was  a rare  spectacle. 

Many  afiecting  and  soul-harrowing  scenes  has 
that  court-house  witnessed.  Hearts  have  been 


PKISON  OR  ALTAR,  WHICH  ? 


181 


wrung,  and  souls  plunged  in  misery  and  despair  at 
the  iron  mandates  of  the  law ; wives  have  been 
sundered  from  husbands,  never  to  meet  on  this 
side  of  eternity ; mothers  have  been  torn  from 
their  ofispring ; sons  taken  their  last  farewell  be- 
fore going  to  meet  their  doom ; men  with  hands 
crimsoned  with  the  blood  of  their  fellow-men  have 
felt  the  meshes  of  the  law  draw  about  them,  and 
broken  down  with  cries  and  awful  lamentations, 
as  they  heard  their  fate  pronounced.  These  stones 
have  echoed  to  heartbreaking  sobs,  wails,  and 
cries ; cheeks  have  paled,  and  hearts  throbbed 
with  grief  and  anguish  unutterable,  time  without 
number,  within  those  granite  walls ; but  never, 
perhaps,  have  they  listened  to  more  piteous  ex- 
pressions of  human  sorrow  and  misery ; never 
witnessed  such  a pathetic  scene  as  this, — a 
mother  and  daughter  tightly  locked  in  each  other’s 
arms  ! Niobe  weeping  over  her  dearest  and  best 
beloved,  in  dread  that  she  may  be  torn  from  her 
desolate  heart. 

Who  could  behold  that  affecting  scene  and  not  feel 
thrilled  to  the  very  depths  of  his  soul  ? Forgotten 
was  the  grave  decorum  and  chilling  etiquette 
which  surround  a court  of  justice,  as  all  gazed 
with  a rapt  and  absorbed  attention  upon  that 
mother  and  daughter.  Tears  streamed  from  eyes 
that  had  not  wept  since  childhood.  Hearts  were 


182 


MOTHER  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


stirred  which  had  grown  hard  and  callous  from 
long  contact  with  vice  and  crime. 

Oh,  the  power  of  a mother’s  love!  Oh,  the 
magic  of  that  "touch  of  nature  which  makes  the 
whole  world  akin  ” I 

But  the  spell  was  suddenly  broken  as  the  door 
opened  and  in  walked  the  detective  with  Sam 
Skillins  in  custody.  They  approached  the  judge, 
and  held  a brief  colloquy  with  him. 

"Now,  Mr.  Skillins,”  said  the  judge  in  con- 
clusion, "will  you  marry  this  girl  whom  you  have 
so  shamefully  deceived  and  deserted  ? ” 

Sam  Skillins  found  himself  in  a corner.  He 
saw  he  must  make  a virtue  of  necessity,  and  yield, 
and  accordingly  signified  his  willingness  to  comply. 
But  he  did  so  with  a mental  reservation ; he 
would  get  even  with  the  girl  who  had  driven  him 
to  this. 

"I  know  a clergyman  that  will  marry  them,  and 
who  will  be  found  at  home,”  said  the  detective ; 
"and  if  your  Honor  desires,  this  matter  can  be 
settled  within  an  hour.” 

And  it  was  so  settled.  The  case  was  laid  over 
for  an  hour,  and  within  that  hour  Sam  Skillins  and 
]\Iaiy  Mulligan,  accompanied  by  the  detective, 
came  to  my  house,  and  I,  Henry  Morgan,  duly 
married  them. 

Poor  Mary,  however,  was  but  the  bride  of  an 


PRISON  OR  ALTAR,  milCH  ? 


183 


hour.  No  sooner  had  the  wedding  party  left  my 
house  than  Sam  Skillins  departed  for  parts  un- 
known. It  was  afterwards  ascertained  that  he  had 
another  wife  living,  and  Mary  Mulligan  found 
herself  doubly  betrayed,  — she  was  neither  maid, 
wife,  nor  widow.' 

Alas ! that  I should  have  to  record  it.  The 
unfortunate  girl  fell  beneath  the  blow,  yielded  to 
despair,  and  soon  gravitated  to  that  social  level 
from  which  few  of  her  sex  ever  rise. 

A word  concerning  marriage.  Few  Protestant 
ministers  have  married  as  many  Catholics  as  I 
have  done.  The  question  is,  were  these  marriages 
legal?  The  above  marriage  of  course  was  not. 
The  man  had  committed^bigamy,  yet  I knew  not  his 
character  until  months  afterwards,  when  1 learned 
it  from  Mary’s  own  lips.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
suppose  both  parties  were  eligible,  both  were 
Catholics  ; then,  according  to  the  teaching  of  the 
Church,  if  married  by  a Protestant  minister,  the 
man  and  wife  are  living  in  adultery  and  their 
issue  are  called  bastards. 

Persons  so  married  are  denied  the  sacraments, 
and,  unless  remarried  by  a priest,  are  refused  the 
last  rites  of  the  Church  when  dying,  and  after 
death  are  deprived  of  Christian  burial  in  conse- 
crated ground. 

Not  only  this,  but  while  living  they  are  ostra- 


184 


MOTHER  TO  THE  RESCUE. 


cized  from  friends  and  relatives,  and  themselves 
and  their  children  are  subjected,  ofttimes,  to  the 
most  terril)le  persecutions,  and  in  some  cases 
family  ties  are  severed. 

Oh,  how  much  of  a great  city’s  misery  and 
crime  lie  at  the  door  of  the  Church  ! The  Church 
stands  as  a Colossus  before  the  hymeneal  altar  and 
declares,  ''iVb  divorce  for  any  cause!  No  mar- 
riage except  by  the  priest!^'  Yet  ifbpens  the  flood 
gates  of  sexual  promiscuity  as  no  other  Christian 
sect  does,  except  the  Mormons.  As  multitudes  of 
old  were  allowed  to  pass  beneath  and  between  the 
feet  of  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  so  this  colossus 
bugbear,  the  Church,  looks  down  upon  the  teem- 
ing multitudes  passing  in  and  out  of  broken  mar- 
ital bonds  with  the  indiffeVence  of  a heathen  God. 

Presume  not  too  much,  O Holy  Mother  Church, 
too  often  called  "Mother  of  Harlots,”  on  the 
tolerance  of  a free  and  intelligent  people ! 
Hark ! Already  is  heard  the  first  thunder-clap 
of  a religious  revolution  I 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  RUIN. FATHER  LEONARD’S  DISCOVERY. 

GOING  TO  THE  DANCE. 

It  was  early  evening,  a dark  December  evening. 
Two  young  girls,  whose  dress  and  persons  were 
concealed  under  water-proof  cloaks,  the  hoods  of 
which  were  also  drawn  close  over  their  heads  and 
faces,  were  hurrying  across  West  Boston  Bridge. 

" We  shall  be  late  in  spite  of  everything,  Kate,” 
said  one  to  the  other. 

"I  know  it.  Oh,  dear!  If  it  had  n’t  been  for 
that  stupid  Sodality  meeting  to-night,  we  should 
have  had  plenty  of  time.” 

” And  if  it  was  n’t  for  that  same  meeting  I,  for 
one,  couldn’t  have  come  at  all,”  said  Nellie  Mur- 
ray ; for  you  know  father  and  mother  won’t  let 
me  out  of  an  evening  since  that  ride  I took  with 
Frank  Barry.” 

" When  you  didn’t  get  home  till  near  midnight? 
I don’t  blame  them.  You ’d  ought  to  have  played 
your  points  better, — got  back  early,  — and  then 
they’d  never  known  anything  about  it,  and  you 
could  have  gone  again  and  again  and  nobody  been 
any  the  wiser.” 


186 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  RUIN. 


"I  shall  know  better  next  time,  at  any  rate,” 
said  the  young  girl,  with  a short  laugh. 

” Yes,  I think  you  are  learning  fast  enough,” 
said  Kate.  " How  skilfully  you  played  it  to-night, 
for  instance,  just  as  soon  as  the  exercises  com- 
menced ! What  a sudden  sickness  that  was  which 
took  hold  of  you  ! How  the  good  Sister  ' tumbled  ’ 
to  it.  And  when  you  told  her  that  you  could  n’t 
get  home  alone,  and  asked  if  I,  Kate  Kansom, 
might  not  go  with  you,  as  we  lived  near  each 
other,  how  accommodatino:  the  old  thino:  was  to 
consent ! Oh,  dear,  how  you  did  'take  her  in’ ! ” 
And  the  two  girls  laughed  merrily  at  the  success 
of  their  strategem. 

" What  would  she  say  if  she  knew  the  truth  ? ” 
exclaimed  Nell,  as  they  walked  on.  " Oh,  would  n’t 
I catch  it,  though  ? I declare,  I believe  father  would 
shut  me  up  in  a convent,  as  he ’s  threatened  to  do 
time  and  again.  Ugh  ! I guess  if  he  did,  though, 
I ’d  make  the  Sisters  wish  I was  in  Jericho  before 
I ’d  been  there  a month,  and  be  glad  to  get  rid  of 
me  at  any  cost.” 

And  the  speaker  shook  her  head  defiantly,  while 
Kate  laughed  immoderately,  knowing  full  well  what 
an  adept  in  mischief  her  lively  friend  was,  and  what 
unlimited  resources  she  had  for  making  people  un- 
comfortable when  she  had  an  object  to  attain. 

I promised  Father  Leonard  that  I would  surely 


GOING  TO  THE  DANCE. 


187 


be  at  the  Sodality  to-night,”  said  Kate,  after  a 
moment.  "He  seemed  very  urgent  to  have  me. 
I do  hope  he  won’t  take  it  into  his  head  to  go 
there.” 

"That  would  be  awkward  enough,  certainly; 
but  you  could  explain  it  all  right,  of  course.” 
"Yes,  if  he  didn’t  go  to  my  house  and  inquire 
about  my  illness.  That  would  be  letting  the  cat 
out  of  the  bag  with  a vengeance,  and  no  mistake.” 
"From  all  1 hear  and  observe,  it  seems  to  me 
that  Father  Leonard  feels  a great  deal  of  solicitude 
about  you,  Katie,”  said  Nell,  roguishly,  and  giving 
her  friend  a playful  nudge. 

"Oh,  that’s  all  right,”  retorted  Kate,  affecting 
an  indifferent  tone.  "It’s  only  fatherh/  inter- 
est he  feels,  you  know.  He  is  my  confessor,  and 
father  and  mother  think  there ’s  nobody  like  him. 
Don’t  you  think  he ’s  good  looking,  Nell?  ” 

"Oh,  so-so,”  answered  Nell.  "I’ve  seen  hand- 
somer men  than  Father  Leonard,  though.” 

"Oh,  of  course  ! There ’s  Frank  Barry,  for  ex- 
ample, who  is  to  take  us  to  the  dance  to-night, 
and  whom  Fr.  Leonard  considers  one  of  the  most 
pious  and  promising  3mung  men  in  his  famous 
school,  said  Kate,”  with  a significance  which  made 
Nell  blush  underneath  the  hood  of  her  water- 
proof. 

But  the  subject  of  good-looking  priests  and 


188 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  RUIN. 


handsome  beaux  generally  — absorbing  topics  with 
young  girls,  as  we  all  know — was  not  further  pur- 
sued just  then,  for  Nell  suddenly  exclaimed,  — 

” Oh,  dear  ! if  it  is  n’t  right  down  too  bad  1 The 
draw  is  up,  and  now  we  shall  never  get  there  in 
time ! ” 

Sure  enough,  as  they  approached  the  draw  of 
the  brido^e  was  seen  to  be  moviii2:,  and  a strini?  of 
vehicles  and  pedestrians  were  soon  huddled  to- 
gether awaiting  the  slow  movements  of  a heavy- 
laden  schooner,  which  was  passing  through. 

"And  we  promised  to  be  so  punctual,”  said 
Kate  Kansom,  petulantly.  "They  Avon’t  wait  for 
us,  and  we  shall  have  our  walk  for  nothing ! ” 

Nell  Murray  was  about  to  make  some  response, 
when  her  companion  uttered  a terrified  expression, 
and  caimht  her  arm,  at  the  same  time  dras^^ing 
her  closer  against  the  railing  of  the  bridge,  and 
behind  a group  of  belated  laborers  who  were  re- 
turning from  Avork. 

"Why,  ’ hat’s  the  matter,  Kate?”  demanded 
Nell,  look  ag  Avonderingly  at  her  friend. 

" Husk  . matter  enough.  Did  n’t  you  see  him  ? ” 

" Hiiii  ! ” repeated  Nell,  looking  round  and 
scanning  the  faces  of  the  people  clustered  near  by. 
" 1 have  n’t  seen  anybody  1 know.  AYhom  do  you 
mean  ? ” 

" Sh  ! Father  Leonard  ! There  he  is,  crossing 


GOING  TO  THE  DANCE. 


189 


the  bridge,  just  in  front  of  that  team.  Mercy  on 
us  ! He  is  coming  directly  toward  us  ! ” 

A man  of  middle  age,  tall,  stately,  and  whose 
shaven  face,  garb,  and  general  appearance  indi- 
cated his  clerical  calling,  was  in  fact  approaching 
the  spot  where  the  two  girls,  now  thoroughly 
frightened  at  the  danger  of  their  escapade  being 
discovered,  stood  shrinking  and  trembling. 

Their  evident  trepidation  and  efforts  to  escape 
recognition  attracted  the  priest’s  attention.  He 
stopped  abruptly,  regarding  them  keenly  and  sus- 
piciously for  a moment. 

But  it  was  impossible,  in  the  semi-obscurity,  to 
penetrate  the  disguise  of  the  water-proofs,  and  the 
priest  turned  slowly  away,  determined,  however, 
to  keep  the  two  females  in  sight,  for  their  sus- 
picious conduct  had  aroused  his  curiosity.  He 
felt  certain  that  they  were  afraid  to  be  seen  by 
him  for  some  cause.  \Yhat  if  they  should  [)rove 
to  be  members  of  his  flock?  It  was  clearly 
his  duty  to  ascertain  if  such  were  the  fact.  As 
the  draw  at  last  slid  into  place,  Father  Leonard 
passed  on  with  the  delayed  crowd,  but  cast  quick 
glances  right  and  left,  until  he  once  more  dis- 
covered the  }mung  women. 

Kate  and  Xell  were  unaware,  however,  that  the 
keen  eye  of  the  priest  was  upon  them.  They  had 
lost  sight  of  him  in  the  crowd,  and  their  momen- 


190 


ox  THE  ROAD  TO  RUIN. 


tary  apprehensions  vanished  and  were  forgotten 
as  they  arrived  at  Bowdoin  Square,  where  they 
found  Frank  Barry  awaiting  them  at  a place 
agreed  upon. 

"I  was  afraid  you  couldn’t  manage  it,  girls,” 
said  he,  as  taking  an  arm  of  each,  he  escorted 
them  across  the  square. 

You  must  thank  Xell  for  carrying  out  the 
scheme,  Frank,”  said  Kate,  laughingly.  *'If  she 
can’t  manage  to  pull  the  wool  over  people’s  eyes, 
nobody  can.” 

And  thereupon  she  proceeded  to  relate  how  her 
friend  had  feigned  a sudden  attack  of  sickness,  as 
an  excuse  for  leaving  the  Sodality  meeting,  where 
their  unsuspecting  parents  imagined  they  were  at 
this  moment,  imbibing  wholesome  moral  and 
religious  instruction. 

Frank  Barry  had  excited  Nellie  ^Murray’s  im- 
airination  bv  describingr  a dance  which  he  had 
attended  at  a celebrated  "free-and-easy”  West 
End  dance  hall,  which  was  run  by  a prominent 
Catholic.  He  had  painted  the  place  and  the 
attractions  of  the  dance  in  such  glowing  colors 
that  the  young  girl  was  eager  to  have  him  take 
her  and  her  "chum,”  Kate  Ransom,  some  night  to 
participate  in  the  festivity. 

The  two  girls  were  unmistakably  a little  wild 
and  wayward,  but  as  yet  they  were  pure  and 


GOING  TO  THE  DANCE. 


191 


innocent.  Little  did  they  know  that  this  night  of 
harmless  frolic,  as  they  considered  it,  would  mark 
a turning-point  in  their  lives  ! A turning-point, 
not  for  good,  but  for  evil.  The  downward  path 
lay  before  them,  in  all  its  alluring  attractiveness. 
Oh,  that  some  friendly  hand  would  interpose  to 
save  them  ! Oh,  that  thoughts  of  parents,  home, 
relatives,  friends,  would  bid  them  pause  and  re- 
flect ere  they  crossed  the  threshold  of  that  dance 
house,  or  embarked  in  that  Avhich  Avas  to  prove  to 
them  a fatal  dance  of  death  ! But  it  was  not  to 
be! 

Arriving  at  their  destination.  Concert  Hall,  so 
called,  they  found  a large  crowd  entering ; and 
amid  much  pushing  and  struggling  Frank  and  his 
pretty  companions  at  length  reached  the  hall 
Avhere  dancing  had  already  commenced. 

Little  did  they  think,  hoAvever,  that  their  esca- 
pade had  been  l)etrayed.  Father  Leonard  had  not 
for  a moment  lost  slight  of  the  two  girls.  He  had 
followed  them  to  the  very  entrance  of  the  dance 
hall.  But  not  till  they  Avere  passing  up  the  stairs 
could  he  obtain  a glimpse  of  the  features  of  the 
two  girls,  Avho,  feeling  secure  that  they  Avere  no 
longer  in  danger  of  being  recognized,  threAv  back 
the  hoods  Avhich  concealed  their  faces.  The  priest 
recognized  them  Avhile  standing  on  the  sidewalk. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  rush  through  the  crowd 


192 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  RUIN. 


and  forcibly  compel  the  girls  to  return  to  their 
homes  ; but  oiher  thoughts  deterred  him  from  doing 
this.  He  disliked  to  be  seen  in  such  a place,  and, 
moreover,  feared  his  motives  might  be  misconstrued 
and  his  profession  and  church  be  scandalized. 

No ; he  would  wait  until  the  morrow  and  pri- 
vately admonish  the  wayward  girls,  or  perhaps 
reveal  their  conduct  to  their  parents.  Which  course 
to  pursue  he  could  not  decide  that  night.  Shocked 
and  disturbed,  the  priest  therefore  turned  away, 
and  thoughtfully  pursued  his  homeward  way. 

The  result  of  his  reflections  and  what  happened 
at  the  dance  that  night  will  be  told  in  the  next 
chapter. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  DANCE. “GENTLEMAN 

MIKE.” MARY  MULLIGAN  AGAIN  APPEARS 

All  unconscious  that  they  had  been  watched 
and  followed  by  the  strict  and  severe  Father  Leon- 
ard, Kate  Ransom  and  Nell  Murray  soon  found 
themselves  in  the  midst  of  the  gay  and  festive 
throng  of  dancers. 

Unaccustomed  to  such  a scene,  widely  different 
effects  were  produced  upon  the  mind  of  each  of 
the  young  girls. 

To  Nell,  who  was  thoughtless  and  fond  of  ex- 
citing amusements  by  nature,  the  clash  of  the 
orchestra,  the  whirling  figures  of  men  and  women, 
the  rush  and  stir  as  fifty  couples  circled  around  the 
hall,  keeping  time  to  the  rapid  measure,  and  enjoy- 
ment seemed  pictured  on  ev^ery  countenance,  set 
her  own  blood  dancing  wildly  through  her  veins. 

Kate  Ransom,  however,  was  more  sedate  and 
reflective  than  her  friend.  She  possessed  an  intu- 
itive delicacy  and  native  modesty,  which,  now 
that  she  perceived  the  true  character  of  the  place 
and  the  free  manners  of  its  patrons,  made  her  un- 
easy and  anxious  to  depart  at  once. 


194  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  DANCE. 


" Oh,  I am  so  sorry  we  came,  Xell ! ” she  whis- 
pered. " I wish  we  were  safe  at  home.  Even  the 
Bodality  would  be  better  than  this.” 

Nell  turned  upon  her  in  surprise  and  indigna- 
tion. 

" Why  3mu  silly  goose  ! ” she  exclaimed  impa- 
tiently. What  in  the  world  has  come  over  you 
all  of  a sudden?  You  were  wild  to  come  when  I 
first  proposed  the  subject.” 

" But  I had  no  idea  that  the  hall  was  such  a 
place  as  this,  Nell,  or  that  we  should  meet  such 
people.  Some  of  these  women  are  positively  dis- 
gusting, and  the  'way  the  men  act  with  them  is 
perfectly  scandalous.” 

" What  a little  Puritan  she  is,  is  n’t  she,  Frank?” 
said  Nell,  with  a derisive  laugh,  to  her  companion. 
*'  Who  would  have  thouorht  of  such  a criticism 

O 

from  you,  Kate  Ransom?  Dear  me!  Anyone 
can  see  it ’s  a case  of  sudden  conversion.  I was 
not  so  far  out  of  the  way  after  all  when  I hinted 
at  Father  Leonard’s  solicitude  about  you,  Kate. 
The  good  priest  must  have  been  laboring  quite 
earnestly  with  you  of  late.  I suppose  the  next 
thing  we  hear,  you  will  be  a candidate  for  holy 
orders.” 

Nell’s  raillery  produced  its  intended  effect : 
Kate  bridled  at  the  imputation.  She  a candidate 
for  holy  orders,  forsooth  I No,  indeed  I The 


**  GENTLEMAN  MIKE”  AND  MARY  MULLIGAN.  195 


world  and  its  pleasures  were  too  alluring  as  yet 
for  her  to  embrace  the  sacred  calling.  'I  he  time 
might  come  when  she  would  be  only  too  happy  to 
seek  the  [)eace  and  retirement  of  the  cloister ; to 
shut  out  eveiy  vestige  of  the  exterior  world,  — its 
vapid  joys,  its  deceptive  hopes,  its  miseries,  its 
sorrows,  and  vain  heartburnings  for  the  uninter- 
rupted calm  and  sweet  holy  beatitude — as  it  had 
been  pictured  to  her  in  the  eloquent  language  of 
Father  Leonard  — of  a conventual  life.  Yes,  in 
the  dim  future  the  time  when  she  would  lono:  for 

O 

this  might  come,  but  it  surely  had  not  yet  arrived. 

Somehow  a quick  reaction  from  her  previous 
feelins:'?  set  in ; her  first  reluctance  to  rem;iin 
vanished ; her  pulses  began  to  beat  to  the  swift 
inufic  ; her  heart  throbbed.  Like  Xell,  she  com- 
menced to  feel  the  inspiriting  influence  of  the  scene 
before  her,  and,  from  lono^insr  to  mingle  in  it,  was 
soon  induced  to  accept  a partner  whom  Frank 
Barry  introduced  to  her  as  a friend  of  his,  and  in 
another  moment  had  entirely  forgotten  her  mis- 
ffivinofs  in  the  intoxicatins:  delisrht  of  the  dance. 

Kate  was  a superb  waltzer.  Her  figure  was 
graceful  and  lithe  as  a sylph’s.  Every  sway  and 
turn  revealed  an  exquisite  taste  and  a refined  ele- 
gance. Her  face,  youthful  and  charming  at  all 
times,  was  now  rendered  positively  lovely  by  the 
rich  flush  mantling  her  fair  cheek  and  the  flashing 


196  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  DANCE. 


nidiance  which  excitement  lent  to  her  usually  soft 
and  gentle  eye.  Kate’s  partner  was  a reckless, 
dashing  spendthrift,  the  only  son  of  a wealthy 
liquor  dealer  and  leading  Catholic  politician.  The 
father’s  name  generally  heads  the  list  of  every 
veil-advertised  charity,  fair,  and  money-raising 
scheme  devised  for  the  glory  and  good  of  his 
church,  of  which  he  is  a princi})al  pillar.  The 
son's  ambitions  lie  in  another  direction,  however. 
Wherever  a boat-race,  horse-trot,  cocking- main,  or 
prizc-Hght  is  in  progress,  Mike  Lawler  is  sure  to 
be  found  in  its  midst,  spending  and  gambling  his 
money  away  like  a ])rince  of  the  royal  blood,  but 
always  maintaining  such  a quiet  and  undemonstra- 
tive bt'arinsr  that  he  has  come  to  l>e  known  about 
town  by  the  mahriqiiet  of  "Gentleman  Mike.’’ 
Despite  this  lamb-like  designation,  however, 
Michael  Lawler  possessed  attributes  that  should 
propt*rly  place  him  on  the  black-list  of  society, 
among  the  human  wolves  and  tigers  who  seek 
their  prey  by  stealth  and  cunning,  and  gorge  and 
fatten  on  the  tenderlings  of  the  flock.  Beneath 
his  gentlemanly  and  handsome  exterior  lurk  raging 
passions  thajt  have  defiled  many  a home  altar,  led 
many  a ewe  lamb  astray,  and  plunged  hai)py 
households  in  a grief  and  despair  darker  and 
deadlier  than  was  ever  cast  by  the  shadow  of  a 
new-made  grave. 


"gentleman  mKE”  AND  MAKY  MULLIGAN.  197 


Utterly  ignorant  of  the  character  of  her  part- 
ner, Kate  Ransom  yielded  herself  entirely  to  the 
voluptuous  enchantment  of  the  dance.  She  forgot 
where  she  was,  — forgot  time  and  circumstance. 
She  seemed  to  be  flying  on  angel  wings,  wander- 
ing in  heavenly  space,  like  one  of  Milton’s  seraphs, 
to  the  accompaniment  of  divine  harmony.  The 
man  beside  her  took  on  the  form  of  some  radiant 
being,  — an  archangel  he  apj)eared  to  her  un- 
chained imagination.  Never  had  she  felt  the  sway 
and  fascination  of  the  waltz  like  this ; never  had 
she  danced  with  one  who  seemed  so  perfect  a 
master  of  the  art ; but  never,  though  she  knew  it 
not,  was  her  soul’s  salvation  in  such  deadly  peril 
as  now.  The  spring  had  been  set,  the  snare  laid, 
and  already  the  fowler  was  preparing  to  seize 
upon  his  prey. 

Meanwhile  the  two  had  become  the  cynosure  of 
all  eyes.  Such  a handsome  pair,  such  perfect 
dancing,  had  never  been  S(>en  in  that  hall  before. 
"Gentleman  Mike”  was  known  to  most  of  the 
habitues  of  the  place ; but  inquiry  was  rife  regard- 
ing his  lovely  companion,  and  comments  passed 
from  lip  to  lip  that  would  have  brought  the  blush 
of  shame  and  indignation  to  Kate's  pure  cheek,  if 
she  could  have  heard  them. 

"Who  the  deuce  is  she?”  queried  a rakish-look- 
ing young  fellow,  who  was  standing  apart  among 


198  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  DANCE. 

the  spectators,  addressing  his  remark  to  the  mas- 
ter of  ceremonies,  who  chanced  to  be  at  his 
elbow. 

"Give  it  up,”  said  that  worthy,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  " Never  saw  her  here  before.  A 
mighty  fine-looking  girl ; and  my  eyes  I Can’t 
she  waltz  though?” 

"It  would  be  a bonanza  in  your  pocket,  Dan,  to 
get  her  to  dance  here  regularly,”  returned  the 
other.  "Better  try  it  on,  old  man!  Wouldn’t 
the  boys  turn  out  en  masse,  though,  just  to  see 
her,  lettinsf  alone  the  chance  of  'havino:  a flino:  ’ 
with  such  a partner?  There ’s  millions  in  it  I ” 

"I’ll  have  a talk  with  Gentleman  Mike  about 
it,  you  bet ! ” said  Dan. 

" You  could  afford  to  stand  a pretty  solid  figure 
on  it,  too,”  observed  the  first  speaker.  " I sup- 
pose she ’s  some  new  conquest  of  Lawler’s.  She 
looks  like  an  innocent,  don’t  you  think?  By  the 
way,  where’s  the  Mulligan  to-night?  She  does  n’t 
seem  to  have  put  in  an  appearance  as  yet.” 

"No.  ' OfiT her  base ’ again,  that ’s  all,”  was  the 
sententious  answer. 

"Drunk,  eh?” 

" Worse  than  that.  She’s  got  one  of  her  pious 
fits  on  again.  Came  to  me  to-day  and  said  she ’d 
been  to  confession,  consequently  had  sworn  off 
dancing,  drinking,  and  everything  else,  and  was 


"gentleman  mike”  and  MARY  MULLIGAN.  199 


going  to  reform  this  time  for  good.  It ’s  only  the 
third  time  within  a month  she ’s  played  us  the 
same  trick.” 

" Why  don’t  you  give  her  the  sack,  and  done 
with  it,  then?” 

" Oh,  you  know  how  it  is  yourself,  Charley,” 
said  the  master  of  ceremonies,  signalling  to  the 
leader  of  the  orchestra  to  stop  the  music  on  ol:>- 
serving  that  Kate  and  her  partner  had  ceased 
dancing  at  last,  and  were  retiring  from  the  floor. 
"You  see  Moll  is  still  a mighty  handsome  woman, 
and  she ’s  the  best  dancer,  barring  this  young  un, 
we  ever  had  here.  There ’s  no  danofer  of  her  cut- 
ting  us  altogether,  for  we  pay  her  good  wages  for 
* leading  otf,’ — better  than  she  can  get  at  any  other 
dance-house  in  town,  at  any  rate.  We  find  it 
pays  to  wink  at  her  flighty  turns,  for  she ’s  always 
sure  to  come  round  all  right  after  she ’s  been  to  the 
priest,  got  absolution,  and  feels  free,  I s’pose,  to 
go  at  it  again  with  a clear  conscience,  so  to 
speak.” 

" Well,  it  would  n't  be  a healthy  thing  for  Mike 
Lawler  if  Moll  should  take  a notion  to  pop  in  to- 
night and  see  him  ' spooning  ’ with  this  new  flame, 
eh,  Dan?  ” remarked  the  other,  with  a wink. 

" I ’m  afeard  there  would  be  some  hair-pulling, 
for  Moll  is  badly  Dnashed’  on  Gentleman  Mike 
for  a fact,  and  it  makes  her  downright  mad  if  he 


200  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  DANCE. 

SO  much  as  looks  at  another  woman.  But,  Lord  be 
good  to  us  ! ” the  man  broke  off  excitedly,  as  a 
sudden  eommotion  arose  in  a distant  part  of  the 
room  toward  which  most  of  the  people  began  at 
once  to  flock,  " there ’s  Moll  Mulligan  at  this 
very  moment,  and  she ’s  going  at  them  hammer 
and  tongs  ! Make  way  there,  gents  and  ladies ! 
Leader,  strike  up  for  a quadrille  instantly  ! ” 

And  with  these  hurried  adjurations,  the  master 
of  ceremonies  tore  across  the  room  to  prevent  by 
his  presence  and  authority  a scene  that  he  evi- 
dently had  good  reason  to  fear  would  result  disas- 
trously for  the  good  name  — Heaven  save  the 
mark  ! — of  his  establishment. 

Kate  Ransom  had  suddenly  become  conscious  of 
the  attention  of  which  she  was  the  subject.  Grad- 
ually the  various  couples  on  the  floor  had  yielded 
to  fatigue  or  curiosity,  ceased  dancing,  and  had 
ranged  themselves  in  groups  about  the  room,  leav- 
ing the  centre  entirely  to  Kate  and  her  partner. 

On  perceiving  this,  the  young  girl  with  a deep 
blush  abruptly  paused.  " Gentleman  Mike  ” at 
once  eomprehended  the  cause  of  her  confusion  and 
dismay,  and  quickly  escorted  her  to  a seat  as  far 
removed  from  the  general  crowd  as  possible. 

” I must  express  my  deep  gratitude  for  the  pleas- 
ure you  have  afibrded  me.  Miss  Ransom,”  he  said, 
gallantly,  as  he  seated  himself  beside  her.  " I hope 


"gentleman  mike”  and  MARY  MULLIGAN.  201 


you  will  not  think  it  idle  flattery  when  I say  that 
your  waltzing  is  peifection  itself.” 

"I  fear  you  are  fishing  fora  compliment,  sir,” 
said  Kate,  smiling  and  blushing,  but  at  the  same 
time  inwardly  pleased.  " At  all  events,  I think 
your  dancing  merits  an  equal  amount  of  praise.  It 
really  seems  as  if  I had  never  danced  until  to- 
night.” 

He  1)0 wed  low  at  the  flattering  insinuation,  and, 
gently  taking  her  hand,  — 

" 1 may  then  hope  for  a repetition  of  the  favor 
when  you  have  rested  sufficiently?”  he  said,  in- 
quiringly, fixing  an  admiring  look  upon  her  lovely 
countenance. 

"Oh,  not  to-night!  Never  again  in  this 
place  I ” she  returned,  quickly,  all  her  former  feel- 
ing of  aversion  revivins:. 

He  looked  at  her  keenly  and  saw  that  she  was 
very  earnest  and  sincere  in  what  she  had  said.  It 
revealed  that  she  was  what  he  had  at  first  doubted, 
— an  innocent  and  virtuous  girl,  who  had  been 
merely  beguiled,  by  ignorance  or  false  misrepre- 
sentations, into  visiting  the  dance-hall. 

" My  young  friend  Barry  should  not  have 
brought  you  here.  Miss  Hansom,”  he  said,  seri- 
ously. " I shall  take  him  to  task  for  doing  so. 
And  here  he  comes  now  with  Miss  Murray,  to  take 
you  away,  apparently,  for  I perceive  they  have 


202  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  DANCE. 


donned  their  outer  garments,  and  Frank  has  your 
cloak.  I wish  you  might  not  consider  it  rude  if  I 
begged  the  privilege  of  seeing  you  home,”  he 
added,  in  an  appealing  tone. 

But  at  this  moment,  and  before  Kate  could 
make  any  reply,  a woman  suddenly  sprang  before 
them,  — a woman  frantic  and  furious.  It  was  plain 
that  she  was  in  a state  bordering  almost  on  mad- 
ness, and  with  a cry  Kate  shrank  before  the  hand 
that  she  saw  was  uplifted  as  if  to  strike  her  down. 

But  the  blow  did  not  fall.  Something  in  the 
terrified  face  of  the  shrinkin<x  o^irl  seemed  to 
awaken  better  thouorhts  in  the  woman’s  mind. 

O 

Her  arm  slowly  dropped  to  her  side,  and  she 
gazed  long  and  earnestly  into  Kate’s  fair  young 
face,  and  gradually,  as  she  gazed,  her  eyes  seemed 
to  grow  dim  and  misty,  her  bo^ora  moved  with 
convulsive  throes,  sobs  shook  her  frame,  and  a 
tear  fell  upon  the  young  girl’s  hand. 

Kate’s  sympathies  were  quick  and  easily  aroused. 
She  saw  before  her  a woman  little  older  in  years 
than  herself,  but  with  a world  of  sorrow,  misery, 
sin,  and  wretchedness  pictured  in  her  countenance. 
That  countenance  bore  traces  of  more  than  com- 
mon beauty  ; but  it  was  haggard  and  pale  to  ghast- 
liness. The  features  were  correctly  formed ; but 
dissipation  had  made  ravages  upon  them  that 
neither  abstinence  nor  penitence  could  ever  re- 


"gentleman  mike”  and  MARY  MULLIGAN.  203 


store.  It  was  the  wreck  of  one  of  nature’s  love- 
liest masterpieces  that  the  young  girl  looked 
upon  ; and  thus  looking,  she  felt  her  heart  sink 
within  her  at  the  thought  that  a woman  so  young, 
and  evidently  once  pure  and  fair,  could  already 
have  touched  the  lower  depths  of  profligacy  and 
sin. 

Two  years  only  of  city  life  had  ^v^ought  this 
awful  change.  Two  years  before,  this  wretched 
creature,  standing  in  that  West  End  dance-hall, 
bedecked  and  bedizened  in  the  flaunting  finery 
and  mock  jewelry  of  the  lowest  type  of  fallen 
womanhood,  was  the  beautiful  and  modest  Mary 
Mulligan. 

"Yes,”  she  said,  as  though  answering  some 
mental  question  ; " I was  once  as  fair,  as  pure  and 
innocent  as  this  girl.  What ! ” she  cried,  with 
startling  emphasis,  suddenly  coming  close  up  to 
Kate,  — "what  are  you  here  for?  What  do  you 
seek  in  this  vile  den,  where  none  but  men  and 
women  who  have  no  characters  to  lose  resort? 
Have  you  a father  and  mother?  Do  they  know 
whither  your  feet  have  strayed  this  night  ? Girl ! 
girl ! Have  you  deceived  and  cajoled  them  by 
some  flimsy  excuse,  some  lying  pretext  to  elude 
their  vigilance?  Has  some  scoundrel  lured  you 
here,  to  pave  the  way  for  your  eternal  stain  and 
his  deeper  infamy  ? Say  ! Answer  me  ! you  must 


204  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  DANCE. 

and  shall  I Tell  me  if  this  man,  with  whom  you 
danced  but  now,  and  who  dares  not  look  me  like 
an  honest  man  in  the  face,  — is  this  man  your 
tempter  ? 

"Ha!”  she  continued,  as  Kate  involuntarily 
shook  her  head,  "he  has  one  less  sin  to  answer 
for  than  I thought.  But  he  has  perhaps  already 
poured  the  poison  of  his  honeyed  words  into  your 
ear  ! Beware  of  his  smooth  tongue  I Turn  from 
his  handsome  face  and  winning  smile  as  you  would 
from  the  hideous  face  of  leprosy  or  death  I I 
know  his  power,  but  you  know  it  not  as  yet. 
Heaven  grant  you  may  never  know  it  to  your 
hurt ! Have  I not  said  enough  to  make  you 
spring  from  his  side  as  though  contact  with  him 
were  contagion  and  death  ? What  I ” she  ex- 
claimed in  shrill  and  piercing  tones,  as  Kate  in  her 
fright  instinctively  clung  to  Lawler’s  arm,  " do 
you  seek  protection  from  the  wolf,  silly  fool? 
Will  you  not  be  convinced?  Shall  I tell  you 
what  manner  of  man  this  is,- — what  relation  he 
bears  to  me,  and  I to  him?  But  no  I no  I Heaven 
forbid  that  I should  sully  your  pure  ears  or  bring 
the  blush  of  maiden  shame  to  your  innocent  cheek  ! 
Be  warned  of  him,  I say  I ” she  went  on,  pointing 
a shaking  finger  at  Lawler,  who,  like  all  in  the 
room,  seemed  under  some  strange  spell,  and  was 
powerless  to  move  or  interrupt  the  speaker. 


"gentleman  mike”  and  MARY  ^lULLIGAN.  205 


" Such  as  he  can  want  nothin"  "ood  of  an  honest 

O O 

girl,  — nothing  except  to  drag  her  down  to  his 
own  foul  level,  and  to  mine.” 

She  paused  to  take  breath,  but  quickly  contin- 
ued with  even  more  impressive  utterance. 

"Be  warned,  I say,  ^Dung  girl!  It  was  just 
such  a fair  and  sweet-tongued  villain  as  this,  — 
no  worse,  no  better,  — whose  lying  lips  and  foul 
deception  made  me  the  thing  I am.  Look  at  me, 
girl  I I had  beauty  fairer  than  yours.  I had  a 
happy  home,  kindred,  a mother  whose  love  was  as 
}U’iceless  to  me  as  my  hope  of  heaven,  a father 
whom  I worshipped.  In  an  evil  hour  I came  to 
this  accursed  city,  ignorant  as  a babe  of  its  wiles, 
its  hidden  traps  and  pitfalls  for  unheeding  feet. 
But  I had  one  besetting  weakness.  I was  vain 
and  proud  of  my  good  looks.  My  head  had  been 
turned  by  flattery,  my  brain  addled  by  reading 
trashy  novels.  I can  see  it  now  ; I knew  it  not 
then.  I was  told  that  my  beauty  was  a heritage 
more  precious  than  gold  ; that  it  would  make  men 
my  willing  slaves ; that  it  would  win  power, 
wealth,  every  earthly  desire.  Oh,  fool,  fool  that 
I was  ! I had  not  been  twenty-four  hours  in  this 
wicked  city  before  my  vaunted  beauty  proved  my 
bane  and  destruction.  I fancied  myself  in  love 
with  a handsome  face.  I was  flattered  by  the 
admiration  of  a man  whose  wealth  was  said  to  be 


206  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  DANCE. 

incalculable.  I listened  to  his  tale  of  love,  was 
honestly  married  to  him  as  I l)elieved,  when  sud- 
denly he  threw  off  the  mask,  proved  to  me  that 
my  marriage  was  a mockery  and  a sham,  and  cast 
me  off  penniless,  friendless,  giving  me  at  parting 
only  a curse  and  a threat ! ” 

She  paused,  overcome  by  emotion.  A deep 
breath,  a struggling  sigh  from  the  throng  gathered 
about,  bespoke  the  earnest  feeling  which  Mary 
Mulligan’s  harrowing  story  had  awakened  even  in 
those  hardened  hearts.  The  tears  which  now 
flowed  silently  down  her  sunken  cheeks  were  met 
wdth  answering  tears  of  sympathy.  There  were 
low,  murmured  words  of  kindness  and  oaths,  " not 
loud  but  deep,”  in  the  hoarser  tones  of  men  moved 
out  of  their  grosser  natures  by  the  eloquent  tale 
of  sufiering  and  villany  they  had  heard.  Even 
” Gentleman  Mike  ” Lawler  was  uncomfortably 
affected,  but,  assuming  an  indiflference  he  did  not 
feel,  he  arose  suddenly,  whispered  some  low  spo- 
ken words  in  Kate  Ransom’s  ear,  and  was  saunter- 
ing away,  when  a loud  cry  arose ; then  came  an 
agonized  shriek  from  Mary  Mulligan’s  lips,  fol- 
lowed by  a low  groan,  as  the  unhappy  woman  sud- 
denly pitched  forward,  caught  wildly  at  the  empty 
air,  and  sank  struggling  in  strong  convulsions 
upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


ELECmON  ROW  IN  THE  SALOON. FATHER  KEENAN  ANF 

THE  ROSARY. ARRESTED  FOR  DRUNKENNESS. 


MICHAEL  LAWLER  & CO. 

WHOLESALE  AND  RETAIL  DEALERS  IN 

FOREIGN  AND  DOMESTIC  WINES  AND  LIQDORS. 


Such  was  the  imposing  sign  that,  in  all  the 
glory  of  ornamental  gilt  lettering,  stretched  across 
the  fagade  of  a handsome  brick  building  at  the 
North  End. 

Less  than  twenty  years  ago  a dilapidated, 
tumble-down  "ten  footer”  occupied  the  same  site, 
and  in  this  humble  structure  Michael  Lawler,  Sr., 
had  laid  the  foundation  of  his  present  flourishing 
and  lucrative  business.  He  had  then  kept  one  of 
those  low  and  vile  groggeries,  patronized  by  the 
most  disreputable  characters,  which  for  so  long 
dis«fraced  the  North  End  and  made  it  a danscerous 
and  crime-infected  portion  of  the  city,  — a quarter 
that  respectability  sedulously  shunned,  and  even 
the  police  avoided  ; a kind  of  Alsatia,  where  crim- 
inals sought  refuge  and  sanctuary  from  the  law. 


208 


ELECTION  ROW  IN  THE  SALOON. 


Wealth  flowed  steadily  into  Michael  Lawler’a 
cofTers  from  the  first.  lie  soon  found  himself  rich 
and  influential,  an  autocrat  in  city  politics,  a 
''favorite  son”  of  the  church,  and  looked  up  to 
by  his  countrymen  as  one  of  the  consi)icuously 
shining  lights  of  their  race.  Where  he  leads  they 
are  sure  to  follow  and  give  him  a solid  backing  in 
any  scheme  or  measure  that  requires  their  sulFrages. 
Eventually  he  may  realize  his  darling  ambition 
and  become  a member  of  Congress  through  the 
Catholic  vote.  Stranger  things  than  this  are  hap- 
pening nowadays  in  Boston  politics. 

An  important  State  election  had  just  taken 
place,  and  the  so-called  "sample-room”  which 
occupied  the  front  basement  of  Lawler  & Co.’s 
establishment  was  thronged  with  an  excited  and 
hilarious  crowd. 

It  had  been  a busy  day  at  Lawler’s  ; but  now,  as 
night  set  in,  and  it  became  known  that  a great  and 
sweeping  Democratic  victory  had  l)een  won,  the 
weary  and  jaded  bar-tenders  had  all  they  could  do 
to  supply  their  jubilant  and  thirsty  customers,  who 
besio2:ed  the  bar  amid  shouts  and  cries  and  drunken 
clamor,  sufficient  almost  to  have  raised  the  dead 
in  the  neighboring  cemetery  of  Copp’s  Hill. 

And  yet  with  all  this  din  and  turmoil  surround- 
ing him, — with  the  wild  cheers  and  ear-splitting 
yells,  the  stamping  of  feet,  and  the  crash,  now  and 


FATHER  KEENAN  AND  THE  ROSARY.  209 


then,  of  breaking  glasses,  — one  man  in  that  room 
seemed  deaf  to  every  sound. 

He  had  crept  into  a distant  corner,  and,  with  his 
head  bowed  upon  a table,  unnoticed  or  unheeded, 
had  been  suffered  to  sleep  off  the  effects  of  a pro- 
tracted debauch. 

At  length  a party  of  young  hoodlums,  headed 
by  Billy  the  Kid,  all  of  whom  had  shouted  them- 
selves hoarse,  and  were  more  or  less  under  the 
influence  of  liquor,  espied  the  slumberer,  and,  with 
a view  to  making  sport,  set  upon  him  by  joggling 
the  table  and  trying  to  tip  up  the  chair  from  under 
him. 

"Wake  up,  old  man,  an’  pay  for  yer  lodgin’,” 
shouted  the  Kid  in  the  sleeper’s  ear,  and  hitting 
him  a sounding  thwack  on  the  shoulder. 

At  the  same  time  one  of  the  others  caught  hold 
of  a leg  of  the  table,  and,  giving  it  a violent  pull, 
overturned  it  cora[)letely,  and  man,  chair,  and 
table  came  to  the  floor  together. 

In  the  midst  of  the  jeers  that  greeted  this  dis- 
play of  rough  humor,  the  fallen  man  slowly 
struofofled  to  his  feet  and  confronted  his  tor- 
mentors. 

His  first  bewildered  look  gradually  gave  place 
to  one  of  extreme  anger,  as  a sense  of  the  indig- 
nity he  had  received  dawned  upon  his  mind.  The 
insult  seemed  to  have  sobered  him  in  a moment. 


210 


ELECTION  ROW  IN  THE  SALOON. 


He  made  a step  toward  the  grinning  youths, 
his  eyes  flashing,  his  hands  clinched,  his  brows 
drawino:  to<?ether  black  and  threatening  as  a thun- 
der-cloiid.  His  stalwart  figure  was  drawn  up  to 
its  full  height,  his  broad  chest  expanded,  the 
muscles  of  his  neck  and  arms  stood  out  like 
knotted  cords. 

There  was  something  grand  and  impressive  in 
the  bearing  and  aspect  of  the  man,  as  he  now 
stood  as  if  about  to  spring  forward  and  inflict 
summary  vengeance  on  his  assailants.  He  looked 
as  a lion  misfht  look  when  roused  from  his  lair  or 
disturbed  while  lapping  the  blood  of  his  prey,  — 
dangerous,  menacing,  terrible. 

Those  valiant  young  men  all  at  once  lost  court- 
age, and  were  slinking  ignominiously  away,  when 
the  Kid  suddenly  exclaimed,  — 

" Howld  on,  b’ys  1 It ’s  Father  Keenan,  sure ’s 
the  world  ! ” 

They  all  paused  at  this,  and  the  Kid,  continuing, 
said,  — 

"I  hope  yer  won’t  bear  malice.  Father  Keenan. 
Troth,  an’  we  didn’t  know  ’twas  yer  riverence.” 

"Indeed  an’  we  didn’t,  Father,”  chimed  in  the 
others. 

The  silenced  priest,  seeing  their  penitence,  and 
now  recognizing  Billy  and  some  of  the  others, 
unbent  from  his  stern  demeanor,  and  at  once 


FATHER  KEENAN  AND  THE  ROSARY.  211 


became  the  afhible  and  genial  companion  they  all 
knew  him  to  be  at  heart. 

'"Oh,  if  ’twas  a mistake,  all  right,  my  lads, 
and  so  done  with  it ! ” he  said,  a nervous  tremor  in 
his  voice. 

Faith,  we  know  you  too  well  to  play  thricks 
on  yer  riverence  intentionally,”  rejoined  the  Kid. 

We ’d  as  soon  think  o’  thryin’  to  bounce  the  Bos- 
ton pet,  Johnny  Sullivan,  himself.” 

" It ’s  meself  that  saw  yer  lay  out  the  big  nagur 
that  was  thryin’  ter  kick  up  a shindy  in  Mag 
O’Leary’s  boozing-ken  last  spring,”  said  one  of  the 
others.  "Be  the  powers,  but  one  blow  from  yer 
fist  doubled  Big  Ben  up  as  though  he  was  sthruck 
by  lightnin’ ! An’  saving  yer  presence.  Father 
Keenan,  yer  was  drunk  as  a fiddler  at  the  toime, 
too.” 

The  priest  felt  a twinge  of  shame  at  this  frank 
allusion  to  his  besetting  sin.  His  face  flushed 
and  for  once  words  failed  him ; he  could  make  no 
reply. 

His  embarrassment,  however,  was  covered  at 
this  moment  by  a sudden  and  general  movement 
of  the  crowd  around  the  bar,  who  began  to  make 
noisily  toward  the  door.  Some  one  had  proposed 
to  pay  a visit  to  one  of  the  successful  candidates 
living  hard  by,  and  whose  liberality  in  furnishing 
copious  refreshments,  both  solid  and  liquid,  to  his 


212 


ELECTION  ROW  IN  THE  SALOON. 


constituents  on  occasions  like  the  present  was  well 
known. 

" Come  an’  take  a drink  with  us,  Father  Keenan,” 
said  the  Kid,  ” and  so  clean  off  the  score  an’  forgit 
the  joke  we  played  yer.  The  bar  is  clear  at  last.’ 

The  priest,  however,  declined,  but  with  a hesi- 
tation so  perceptible  that  they  united  in  repeating 
the  invitation,  at  a wink  from  their  leader,  the 
Kid,  who  knew  the  priest’s  weakness  and  inability 
to  long  withstand  the  proffered  temptation.  He 
yielded,  as  he  always  }ielded  at  last,  cursing  him- 
self in  his  heart  for  his  feebleness  of  will  at  the 
same  time. 

How  many  times  had  this  man  thus  anathema- 
tized his  folly  and  weakness,  struggled  with  his 
appetite  for  drink,  vowed  not  to  let  the  fiery  fiend 
touch  his  lips,  and  the  self-same  moment  poured  a 
brimmini?  o^lassful  with  fierce  eagerness  down  his 
throat,  following  it  with  others,  till  sense  and 
reason  fled,  — lost  in  drunken  satiety  or  darkened 
by  the  horrible  pangs  of  deliriiun-tremens. 

So  it  would  go  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,  he 
well  knew,  this  man  of  brilliant  intellect,  of  wide 
acquirements ! This  man  whose  genius  and  elo- 
quence had  held  vast  audiences  spellbound,  brought 
sceptics  to  their  knees,  and  by  his  matchless 
casuistry  and  thrilling  fervor  won  over  even  bitter 
enemies  of  his  church  to  seek  sanctuary  in  its 


FATHER  KEENAN  AND  THE  ROSARY.  213 


bosom.  Powerful  in  mastering  the  minds  of  others, 
yet  powerless  to  govern  his  own  vicious  heart  and 
degraded  desires.  Such  was  Father  Keenan  ; such 
the  height  from  which  he  had  fallen.  Pastor  of 
one  of  the  largest  parishes  near  Boston  but  a few 
years  ago ; now,  the  sot,  libertine,  companion  of 
thieves  and  outcasts. 

" Yer  goin’  back  on  yer  liquor.  Father  Keenan,” 
said  Billy,  as  the  priest  held  his  glass  of  whiskey 
still  untasted  in  his  hand.  Some  strange  spell 
seemed  to  have  come  over  him.  He  was  gazing 
dreamily  into  the  glass,  a far-away  look  in  his 
deep-set  eyes. 

Suddenly  he  started,  seized  the  tumbler  with 
feverish  haste,  and  swallowed  the  contents  at  a 
single  gulp. 

" More  ! ” he  cried,  frenziedly,  reaching  across 
the  bar  and  clutching  the  bottle  with  a shaking 
hand. 

But  the  bar-tender  wrenched  it  from  his  grasp, 
saying,  — 

"If  this  is  your  treat.  Father  Keenan,  we  can’t 
chalk  down  any  more  for  you.  Sorry,  but  can’t 
do  it.  Orders  is  orders,  yer  know,  and  your  score 
is  already  long  enough  for  one  day.” 

The  priest  mechanically  felt  in  his  pockets  for 
money,  but  his  last  dime  had  long  since  been 
spent.  His  hand,  however,  encountered  an  object 


214 


ELECTION  ROW  IN  THE  SALOON. 


that  neither  hunger  nor  thirst,  no  stress  of  circum- 
stances had  ever  tempted  him  to  part  with. 

Ihit  the  maddest  rage  for  drink  he  had  ever 
known  possessed  him  at  this  moment.  The  glass 
just  emptied  had  roused  that  horrible  craving  of 
the  conlirmed  inebriate,  — that  hell-born  drought 
which  must  be  quenched,  though  death  be  the 
penalty  ! With  a spasmodic  gesture  he  drew  forth 
his  prized  rosary,  each  bead  of  which  was  linked 
with  solid  gold,  and  held  it  out  with  a trembling 
hand,  while  his  fiice  worked  with  hideous  contor- 
tions and  eveiy  nerve  and  sinew  quivered  like  an 
aspen. 

"Take  it  I”  he  cried  ; "but  give  me  drink;  for 
God’s  sake,  give  me  drink  ! ” 

But  the  bar-tender,  himself  a good  Catholic, 
thrust  back  the  proffered  bribe,  shuddering  with 
superstitious  horror  at  the  sacrilege. 

"Ah!  ye  Judas  I Ye  murtherin’  thafe  of  a 
praste  I ” he  cried  indignantly.  " Git  out  o’  this 
jilace  I Lave  here  at  onct,  or  we  ’ll  pitch  yer  out 
neck  an’  crop  ! Lay  howld  of  him,  b’ys  I ” he 
shouted  to  the  startled  by-standers,  who  began  to 
close  round  Father  Keenan,  uncertain  how  to  act, 
yet  feeling  deeply  the  profanation  of  a sacred 
symbol  which  they  had  witnessed. 

Even  Billy  the  Kid  and  his  confreres  were  ap- 
palled, and  drew  away  from  the  priest,  as  if  fearing 


FATHER  KEENAN  AND  THE  ROSARY.  215 


to  be  involved  in  his  disgrace  and  the  punishment 
which  seemed  likely  to  follow  his  impious  act. 

" Will  ye  give  me  the  drink  ? ” again  cried  Father 
Keenan,  regardless  of  threats  and  menances. 

Ilis  manner  was  no  longer  piteous  or  beseech- 
ing. He  was  no  longer  a rational  and  responsible 
beinof.  His  throat  was  burning:  with  a consuming 
fire,  his  heart  torn  by  raging  fiends.  His  brain 
was  a seething  caldron ; madness  glared  from  his 
wildly  rolling  eyes. 

''Not  a drop  shall  ye  have,  so  help  me  God  ! ” 
said  the  bar-tender. 

The  words  were  not  out  of  his  mouth  when  the 
frenzied  priest  raised  his  hand,  and,  uttering  a 
savage  yell,  flung  the  beads  directly  at  the  bar- 
tender’s face. 

There  was  a howl  of  pain,  a cry  of  mingled 
horror  and  indignation,  and  then  with  a common 
impulse  the  crowd  flung  themselves  upon  the 
priest  and  bore  him  toward  the  door. 

There  ensued  a terrible  struggle.  The  madman 
struck  right  and  left,  hurling  some  of  his  assail- 
ants bodily  upon  the  floor,  knocking  others  against 
the  bar,  and  once  with  a powerful  blow  sweeping 
a whole  pyramid  of  costly  glasses  to  the  ground, 
the  crash  increasing  the  horrid  din  and  tumult ; 
while  the  oaths  and  yells  of  men  already  half 
drunken  and  whoso  Celtic  blood  was  growing  hot-^ 


216 


ELECTION  ROW  IN  THE  SALOON. 


ter  and  hotter  at  the  signs  of  a general  row  ensu 
ing,  together  with  shouts  for  the  police,  were 
borne  out  upon  the  night  air,  soon  drew  a squad 
of  officers  to  the  scene. 

In  a trice  the  tumult  was  quelled,  as  the  police- 
men, with  drawn  clubs,  sprang  into  the  bar-room. 
A few  hurried  words  explained  the  cause  of  the 
conflict;  Father  Keenan  was  quickly  secured  just 
as  he  was  sinking  to  the  floor  from  exhaustion, 
flecks  of  foam,  dabbled  with  blood,  hanging  upon 
his  lips.  He  was  taken,  weak  and  unresisting  as 
a child,  to  the  police  station,  where  he  was  put  in 
a comfortable  cell  and  medical  aid  summoned. 

Despite  all  that  he  endured  that  night,  however, 
the  blows  received,  strength  expended,  and  the 
shock  to  his  nervous  system  of  this,  his  first  in- 
cipient attack  of  mania  a x>ota,  his  iron  frame  and 
constitution  set  any  serious  illness  at  defiance. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


FATHER  LEONARD  VISITS  FATHER  KEENAN  IN  HIS  CELL. 

— A GLADIATORIAL  CONFLICT. 

"Clank!”  went  the  bolt.  "Clash!”  sounded 
the  iron  door  as  an  officer  entered  Father  Kee- 
nan’s cell  and  aroused  him  from  slumber. 

"A  visitor  to  see  you,  prisoner,”  said  the  officer, 
ushering  the  tall  figure  of  Father  Leonard,  and 
retiring  immediately,  leaving  the  two  men  alone. 

The  prisoner  turned  his  bloodshot  eyes  upon 
the  new-comer,  giving  him  a piercing  glance. 
Father  Leonard  returned  the  look  with  interest. 
He  noted  the  powerful  frame  and  splendid  phys- 
ique of  the  man  before  him ; but  the  broad,  intel- 
lectual brow,  the  flashing,  intelligent  eyes,  and  the 
mysterious  light  of  genius  which  blazed  in  their 
depths  struck  him  with  curiosity  and  wonderment. 

" Who  is  this  man  ?”  he  asked  himself.  Though 
totally  unknown  the  one  to  the  other,  each  in- 
stinctively felt  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a 
man  of  superior  powers  and  attainments. 

Leonard  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"]\Iy  son,  I am  told  that  you  are  sufiering  and 
in  grievous  trouble.” 


218  FATHER  LEONARD  VISITS  FATHER  KEENAN. 


He  paused  there,  for  at  the  words  " my  son,” 
the  })i’isoner  raised  his  head  with  a quick,  haughty 
gesture. 

Leonard  little  imagined  how  that  accustomed 
formality  of  address  galled  his  hearer.  He  knew 
not  that  the  prisoner  was,  like  himself,  an  ordained 
priest  though  a silenced  ” one.  He  had  not  even 
been  told  his  name,  but  simply  that  he  belonged 
to  his  own  faith  and  was  in  need  of  spiritual  counsel. 

"You  do  not  answer  me,  my  son?”  pursued 
Leonard,  with  some  show  of  impatience. 

Keenan  gave  his  head  a careless  shake. 

"Why  should  I answer  you?”  he  said,  in  his 
deepest  tones, — tones  that  were  harsh  and  almost 
insolent.  "1  know  you  not;  nor  do  I want  to 
know  you.  Neither  did  I send  for  you.” 

Leonard’s  brows  knitted  slightly.  He  had  never 
yet  encountered  such  obduracy  in  a Catholic. 

" Do  you  not  perceive  that  I am  a priest  of 
Holy  Mother  Church?”  he  asked.  " Are  you  not 
a Catholic,  or  can  I have  been  misinformed?” 

" I see  that  you  are  a priest,  and  I was  born  and 
bred  in  the  Koman  Catholic  faith,”  returned 
Keenan,  deliberately,  and  in  a tone  which  plainly 
said,  " Now  I have  answered  your  question,  please 
get  out  of  this  and  leave  me  to  myself.” 

But  Father  Leonard  was  not  one  to  retreat  at  a 
first  rebuff. 


A GLADIATORIAL  CONFLICT. 


219 


"Well,  my  son,  or  brother,  whichever  term 
you  prefer,  will  you  impart  to  me  your  troubles? 
Do  you  wish  to  make  confession  and  receive  ab- 
solution ? ” 

Father  Leonard’s  manner,  as  he  said  this,  was 
very  gentle,  almost  caressing.  A pleasant  smile 
lit  up  his  usually  stern  face  like  the  sun  shining 
softly  out  over  a storm-darkened  landscape. 

But  upon  the  prisoner  this  effect  was  entirely 
thrown  away.  It  served  l)ut  to  increase  his  bitter- 
ness of  spirit.  Under  his  breath  he  muttered, 
" Hypocrite  ! ” and  spat  savagely  on  the  floor. 

Patience  was  one  of  Father  Leonard’s  virtues  ; 
but  he  inwardly  chafed  at  the  insulting  demeanor 
of  the  man  whom  he  had  come  to  help.  He  drew 
nearer  to  Keenan,  and  sought  to  take  his  hand, 
which,  however,  was  harshly  withheld. 

"Brother,”  he  said,  without  noticing  this  rude- 
ness, "I  see  you  are  a proud  and  sensitive  man. 
You  resent  my  visit  here  as  an  intrusion  : very 
well ; I will  leave  you  now,  if  you  wish,  and  come 
again,  when  I shall  hope  to  find  you  in  a better 
frame  of  mind.” 

He  turned  as  if  to  go,  when  Father  Keenan 
made  a gesture  for  him  to  pause,  at  the  same  time 
rising  to  his  feet. 

" Whatever  you  have  to  say  to  me  you  had  bet- 
ter say  now,”  he  began;  "it  will  probably  be 
your  only  opportunity.” 


220  FATHER  LEONARD  VISITS  FATHER  KEENAN. 


There  was  such  an  air  of  defiance  in  the  way  he 
spoke,  a "girding  of  the  loins,”  as  it  were,  for 
conflict,  that  it  touched  a kindred  feelino:  in  Father 
Leonard’s  nature.  A challenge  to  such  a combat 
as  he  saw  this  ])romi>ed  to  be  was  one  that 
Leonard  never  shrank  from.  Ilis  soul  flew  to 
arms  at  once.  Somethins:  told  him  that  it  would 
be  a fight  a Voutrayice,  — a fight  to  the  death.  He 
little  dreamed,  however,  what  deadly  weapons  his 
adversary  was  about  to  employ. 

''Very  well,”  he  said,  in  answer  to  Keenan’s  re- 
mark. " I repeat,  that,  on  being  informed  you  were 
a Catholic,  and  in  much  distress.  I hastened  to  see 
you,  expecting  to  meet  a sinful  man  indeed,  but 
not  an  impenitent  one.  In  your  ravings  last  night 
the  officer  told  me  you  called  incessantly  on  the 
name  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  and  cried  piteously  to 
see  a priest.” 

Keenan  gave  a short,  contemptuous  laugh. 

" Which  is  only  a proof  that  1 was  very  drunk,” 
he  said,  shamelessly.  "If  I had  not  been  drunk, 
or  out  of  my  senses,  I am  the  last  man  to  place 
any  trust  in  either  the  one  person  you  have  named, 
or  the  other.” 

Leonard  started  back  with  a gesture  of  horror 
and  indignation. 

"Wretched  man  ! ” he  exclaimed.  "Do  you,  a 
Catholic,  dare  utter  such  blasphemy  in  the  presence 


A GLADIATORIAL  CONFLICT. 


221 


of  an  anointed  priest  of  God?  Beware,  or  yon 
may  call  down  upon  your  head  the  anathema 
maranalha  of  the  church.” 

Father  Keenan  laughed  derisively. 

"You  cannot  frighten  me  with  such  a bugbear 
as  that,”  he  said  : " I am  no  longer  a child  ; and  the 
thunders  of  the  church  have  long  since  lost  their 
terrors  for  me.” 

Father  Leonard,  at  these  words,  felt  almost 
tempted  to  depart  without  another  word.  His 
chief  weapon  — the  great  weapon  of  the  church,  a 
superstitious  dread  of  its  spiritual  power  — was 
clearly  useless  in  this  case.  Still  he  could  not 
yield  the  victory  without  a further  struggle. 

" If,  then,”  he  said,  after  a moment’s  thought, 
"an  appeal  to  your  religious  convictions  would  be 
unavailing,  I will  talk  to  you  on  another  subject.” 

He  paused  to  see  how  the  prisoner  would  accept 
this  change  of  base.  Father  Keenan,  however, 
made  no  offer  to  interrupt  him ; but  it  was  plain 
that  he  was  bracing  every  nerve,  like  a gladiator 
who  is  about  to  test  his  strength  with  a formidable 
rival. 

"You  say  you  were  drunk,”  Leonard  resumed. 
"Well,  I want  to  talk  to  you  about  drink;  not,’^ 
he  hastened  to  add,  as  the  other  made  an  impa- 
tient motion,  "to  read  you  a temperance  lecture. 
I can  see  that  you  are  a different  being  from  the 


222  FATIIER  LEONARD  VISITS  FATHER  KEENAN, 


ordinary  slave  of  riim, — such  as  fill  the  poor- 
houses,  jails,  and  make  the  chief  business  for  the 
police  courts. 

"It  is  pitiful,”  continued  the  priest,  fixing  his 
calm,  clear  gaze  on  the  prisoner’s  face,  and  read- 
ing therein  that  his  words  had  made  a certain 
impression,  at  least,  — "pitiful  enough  to  see  the 
poor,  the  ignorant,  the  castaways,  from  their  very 
birth,  yielding  to  this  demon  of  drink,  plunging 
lower  and  lower,  growing  more  hopeless  and 
desperate  with  the  setting  of  each  day’s  sun,  until 
they  are  at  last  swept  away  like  the  offal  and  dirt 
of  the  streets,  — insignificant  atoms,  leaving  no 
mark,  no  sign  that  they  have  cumbered  the  earth, 
save  the  heaped-up  turf  in  potter’s  field. 

" But,”  he  went  on,  impressively,  yet  with  a 
pathetic  cadence  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  which, 
if  assumed  for  effect,  was  wonderfully  touching, 
" when  the  man  more  happily  born  becomes  a 
drunkard, — the  man  of  education,  of  high  culture, 
the  man  gifted,  perhaps  with  brilliant  powers,  the 
child  of  genius,  — when  such  a one  weakly  turns 
to  drink,  becomes  its  slave,  and,  while  seeing  him- 
self sinking  to  the  level  of  the  brutes,  boasts  of 
his  pollution  and  glories  in  his  shame,  as  you  pro- 
fess to,  oh,  it  is  more  than  pitiful ; it  is  cruel, 
woful,  terrible,  — enough  to  make  the  angels  weep  ! 

"O  my  friend,  my  brother,”  he  continued, 


A GLADIATORIAL  CONFLICT. 


223 


fervidly,  " my  heart  bleeds  for  you  ! I weep  for 
your  misfortunes  as  though  they  were  my  own. 
Nay,  you  need  not  curl  your  lip  so  incredulously  : 
you  know  me  not ; know  not  the  stern  discipline 
which  I have  passed  through ; the  sorrows,  griefs, 
and  wretchedness  that  have  been  mine  ; the  sin 
and  shame  which  make  old  wounds  open  and  bleed 
afresh  whenever  I witness  degradation  such  as 
yours.  My  own  misfortunes  give  me  the  right  to 
speak.  Yes,  misfortunes  that  would  arouse  your 
tenderest  pity  and  flood  your  eyes  with  sympa- 
thetic tears.  You,  too,  have  suffered  severe,  bitter 
disappointment.  Some  cherished  bud  of  promise, 
prized  above  life  itself,  you  have  seen  wither  and 
die.  A frail,  sweet  blossom,  to  which,  as  mortal 
man  will  do,  you  clung  as  to  your  only  blessing 
and  hope.  Perhaps  envy  has  made  you  its  mark ; 
struck  at  you  with  its  poisoned  shaft ; persecuted 
you ; driven  you  from  home  and  kindred.  Or, 
you  may  have  been  the  subject  of  unmerited  re- 
proach, the  dupe  of  treachery,  the  victim  of  a 
grievous  wrong.” 

Thus  far  Father  Keenan  had  listened  without 
exhibiting  any  emotion.  Whatever  he  may  have 
felt  at  heart,  his  countenance  at  least  was  perfectly 
composed.  Father  Leonard,  indeed,  close  student 
of  human  nature  that  he  was,  had  observed  now 
and  then  a nervous  twitching  of  the  eyelid,  a 


224  FATHER  LEONARD  VISITS  FATHER  KEENAN. 

sterner  compression  of  the  lips,  a briglitor  scintil- 
lation of  the  intelligent  eye  ; and  such  faint  signs 
told  him  that  his  words  had  struck  home. 

But  when  he  spoke  the  last  word,  the  mask  sud- 
denly fell.  Keenan’s  face  became  convulsed  with 
passion. 

” Wrong!”  he  broke  in,  with  concentrated  en- 
ergy, striking  his  hands  fiercely  together.  "Ay, 
I have  suffered  such  wrong  that  no  tears,  no 
prayers,  no  repentance  can  ever  right  it.  No  court 
of  justice  can  give  redress  for  such  wrong  as 
mine.  No  tribunal  listen  to  my  plea  save  one, 
and  to  that  I shall  appeal  for  judgment.  Yes, 
until  this  moment,  I had  thought  to  buiy  my 
grievance  deep  down  in  my  own  heart.  But  from 
this  moment  I live  for  another  purpose.  All  the 
powers  I possess,  my  strength  of  body,  my  en- 
ergy of  soul,  my  gifts  of  intellect, — all  shall  be 
devoted  to  expose  the  monstrous  wrong  and  lay 
it  in  all  its  glaring  hideousness  before  the  tribunal 
of  public  opinion.” 

Father  Leonard  was  too  much  puzzled  and  sur- 
prised to  speak  for  a moment,  as  the  prisoner 
paused.  At  last  he  said,  — 

"You  speak  in  enigmas.  I do  not  understand.” 

"I  will  speak  plainly,”  answered  Keenan,  "if 
you  desire ; but  I warn  you  that  what  I shall  say 
will  be  very  disagreeable  to  your  ears.” 


A GLADIATORIAL  CONFLICT. 


225 


"I  have  tendered  you  my  sympathy  as  one  who 
has  himself  suffered,”  said  Father  Leonard  gently. 
^'As  a priest,  many  unpleasant  and  disagreeable 
confessions  are  daily  made  to  me,” 

" Hut  this  will  be  the  most  unpleasant  and  un- 
palatable one  that  priest  ever  heard,  and  will  try 
your  patience  beyond  all  bearing,  I fear,”  rejoined 
Keenan  ; and  there  was  a malicious  glitter  in  his 
eye  that  gave  Father  Leonard  a vague  sense  of 
uneasiness.  Nevertheless  he  said  quietly, — 
''Proceed,  my  son,  and  you  will  find  me  a 
patient  listener,  and  I trust  a worthy  counsellor, 
— certainly  a friendly  one.” 

Again  that  malicious  sparkle  came  into  Father 
Keenan’s  eyes  as  he  observed  dryly,  — 

"1  shall  remind  your  reverence  of  that  promise 
by  and  by.” 

Father  Leonard  bowed,  but  his  uneasiness  was 
increased,  and  a suspicion  that  some  deep  design 
underlay  this  remark  was  born  in  his  mind. 

"What  you  have  to  tell  me  is  to  be  under  the 
seal  of  confession,  I presume?”  he  asked. 

"Under  seal  of  confession  I”  exclaimed  Keenan. 
"No  ! On  the  contrary,  I told  you  that  I intended 
to  blazen  the  story  of  mv  wrongs  to  the  whole 
world ! ” 

"In  heaven’s  name,  who  then  has  done  you 
this  terrible  wrong,  the  relation  of  which  requires 


226  FATHER  LEONARD  VISITS  FATHER  KEENAN. 


SO  wide  an  auditory?”  asked  Leonard,  thinking 
now  that  he  was  certainly  dealing  with  a madman. 

" Who ?”  repeated  Keenan.  "That  most  mon- 
strous of  tyrants,  that  harshest  of  despots,  that 
cruellest  of  oppressors,  your  master,  but  no  longer 
mine,  — the  Roman  Catholic  Church  !” 

"The  Church  ! ” cried  Father  Leonard.  " Wretch  ! 
Blasphemer  ! Apostate  ! What  mean  you  ? Who 
are  you  — a Catholic  — that  dare  employ  such 
epithets  in  connection  with  the  name  of  the  Holy 
Church  of  God?” 

"Who  am  I?”  said  Father  Keenan,  bitterly. 
"As  you  see,  a poor,  drunken  vagabond;  a mis- 
erable outcast,  friendless,  hopeless,  and  desperate. 
All  this  I am;  but  once,  like  yourself,  I was  in 
holy  orders.  Once  I was  an  ordained  priest ! ” 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


FATHER  Keenan’s  confession.  — the  church  blamed 

FOR  HIS  DOWNFALL. 

As  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  the  surprise 
occasioned  by  this  declaration,  Father  Leonard 
sternly  said,  — 

" I see  now  how  it  is  ; you  have  fallen  under  the 
ban  of  the  Church.  If  a priest,  you  have  been 
'silenced’  for  some  cause.” 

"Yes,  I km  a 'silenced’  priest,”  said  Keenan, 
moodily. 

Father  Leonard  did  not  speak  for  a moment: 
he  Avas  thinking  what  course  to  pursue  in  this 
difficult  case ; whether  to  depart  Avithout  wast- 
ing more  effort  on  this  embittered  man,  or  to  try 
and  work  upon  him  one  of  those  miracles  of  con- 
version which  are  promised  to  reward  zealous  and 
faithful  service  in  the  cause  of  Christ.  Again  the 
question  recurred  to  his  mind,  "Who  is  this,  man?” 
and  he  put  it  into  Avords  by  asking  aloud,  — 

"What  is  your  proper  name,  sir?  for  I pre- 
sume the  name  you  gave  to  the  officer  is  a fictitious 
one.” 

The  prisoner  raised  his  head  proudly. 


228 


FATHER  Keenan’s  confession. 


"My  name  is  Jerome  Keenan,”  said  he. 

"What!”  exclaimed  Father  Leonard,  utterly 
confounded,  "you  that  brilliant,  eloquent  'Father 
Jerome,’  whose  fame  as  a preacher,  whose  zeal  and 
fidelity  to  the  cause  of  the  Church  and  humanity, 
was  once  spread  over  two  hemispheres?” 

Father  Keenan’s  head  had  drooped  forward 
upon  his  breast.  A wave  of  emotion  seemed  to 
sweep  over  him.  It  was  long  since  he  had  heard 
that  name, — " Father  Jerome,” — spoken  by  human 
lips.  Once  he  had  been  familiarly  known  through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.  Few  men 
had  been  so  reverenced  and  loved  in  their  day  and 
generation  as  "Father  Jerome”  had  been.  Ilis 
triumphs,  his  high  place  in  the  Church,  the  influ- 
ence he  had  wielded,  all  rose  up  before  his  mind 
in  terrible  contrast  with  his  present  ignominious 
surroundings  and  debased  mode'  of  life.  With 
an  eflfort  he  controlled  his  emotion,  and  in  hoarse 
tones,  slowly  answered,  — 

"Yes,  I am  that  man.” 

Father  Leonard  could  not  at  once  frame  into 
words  the  thoughts  which  rushed  upon  his  mind  at 
this.  A long  pause  ensued.  At  last  Leonard 
broke  the  silence,  speaking  in  a strangely  subdued 
tone  of  voice. 

" I see  you  to-day  for  the  first  time.  Father 
Jerome.  But  oh,  this  unexpected  meeting  fills 


THE  CHIJRCn  BLAMED  FOR  IIIS  DOWNFALL.  229 


me  with  surprise,  sorrow  — yes,  and  shame ! 
Shame,  that  one  who  has  occupied  the  high  posi- 
tion in  the  Church  that  3^011  have  held  should  have 
fallen  to  such  a depth  of  l)aseness  and  wickedness 
as  this.  Oh,  my  dear  brother  in  Christ ! ” he 
cried,  clasping  his  hands,  his  voice  tremulous  with 
emotion,  and  sudden  tears  clouding  his  e}^es, 
"oh,  my  friend,  — for  friend  I shall  call  you, 
stranger  though  we  may  be, — is  there  nothing  I 
can  do, — nothing  to  help  you, — to  save  you? 
Oh,  there  must  be  means  to  rescue  you  from  dis- 
honor and  disgrace  ! The  Church  needs  you  She 
cannot  spare  such  a gifted  son.  She  is  merciful : 
whatever  your  errors,  she  will  forgive  them.  I 
will  intercede  with  the  bishop,  will  implore  him 
to  reinstate  }"ou,  give  you  one  more  chance  to 
redeem  the  past.  Cheer  up,  1113^  brother.  There 
is  hope  for  you  yet,  fallen  as  you  are.” 

"Hope!”  said  the  prisoner,  bitterly.  "Alas! 
Hope  and  I have  been  strangers  for  3'ears.  Hope 
fled  from  me  forever  when  I was  dragged,  as  it 
were,  from  the  altar,  and  flung  out  of  the  arms  of 
the  Church.”' 

"Oh,  not  forever,  my  brother!”  said  Father 
Leonard,  earnestly.  " There  is  hope  for  the  most 
wretched ; hope  for  the  guiltiest ; hope  even  for 
the  criminal,  though  he  stands  in  the  shadow  of  the 
gallows  ; ay,  though  the  rope  encircled  his  neck.” 


230 


FATHER  KEEXAN’S  CONFESSION. 


''Yes,  there  may  be  hope  for  all  of  these,  but 
for  me  there  is  no  hope  this  side  the  grave,” 
rejoined  Father  Keenan,  in  suffocating  tones. 

"Oh,  say  not  so,  brother  ! you  are  too  despond- 
ent. Let  me  help  you.  I have  some  influence  at 
the  courts ; your  case  is  not  so  desperate ; the 
charge  against  you  is  not  a very  serious  one.  I 
will  stand  sponsor  for  your  future  good  conduct, 
will  pay  your  fine,  if  you  will  promise  to  be 
guided  by  me  ; give  me  the  opportunity  to  see  you 
daily,  to  strengthen  you  in  good  resolutions,  to 
fight  with  you  and  for  you  against  the  demon  of 
drink  when  it  tempts  you  in  your  weaker 
moments.” 

Father  Keenan  was  deeply  afi’ected  by  the 
earnest,  Christian  kindness  and  charity  of  the 
priest.  It  was  the  ^first  word  of  encouragement 
from  one  of  his  own  order  that  he  had  received 
since  he  had  been  "silenced”  by  the  bishop’s 
decree. 

For  an  instant  his  frame  shook,  and  unhidden 
tears  rushed  to  his  eyes ; but  he  knew  his  own 
weakness  too  well.  He  remembered  also  how  he 
had  been  led,  in  the  first  place,  to  indulge  it,  and  all 
the  bitterness  and  savage  acrimony  of  his  nature 
was  again  aroused  at  the  thought.  He  shook  his 
head  decisively  in  answer  to  Leonard’s  appeal,  and 
said,  — 


THE  CHURCH  BLAMED  FOR  HIS  DOWNFALL.  231 


" You  are  a good  man,  — a very  good  man  ; and, 
what  is  rarer  still,  I believe  are  a good  priest”  ; 
and  as  Father  Leonard  raised  his  hand  in  protest 
against  this  exceptional  compliment,  Keenan  con- 
tinued, — 

"Remember,  Father,  I have  been  a priest  and 
know  whereof  I speak.  I know,  alas ! what 
temptations  assail  the  priest, — temptations  that 
the  laity  are  not  exposed  to,  and  which  none  but  a 
priest  can  justly  appreciate.  Priests  are  but  men, 
subject  to  the  common  faults  and  frailties  of 
humanity ; and  that  priest  is  more  or  less  than 
man  who  can  pass  unscathed  through  the  ordeal 
to  which  the  mistaken  policy  of  the  Church  exposes 
her  clergy.” 

A flush  swept  across  Father  Leonard’s  face,  — 
whether  of  shame  or  indignation  could  not  be 
told.  He  started  to  speak  as  though  he  would 
deny  this  assertion  ; but  perhaps  the  natural  truth 
and  candor  of  the  man  forbade  him  to  defend  a 
point  that  he  knew  in  his  heart  of  hearts  was 
defenceless.  He  adopted  another  course,  and,  after 
a moment’s  reflection,  pointedly  said,  — 

" Yet  I have  heard  that  you  once  defended  the 
Church  against  that  very  charge  made  by  one  of 
its  greatest  enemies ; yes,  I even  have  read  that 
remarkable  discourse,  in  which  you  completely 
routed  the  adversary  and  stilled  for  the  time  the 


232 


FATHER  Keenan’s  confession. 


public  clamor  raised  by  charges  of  corruption  and 
immorality  against  the  Catholic  clergy.  Oh,  it 
was  a noble  defence,  my  broiher  ! ” 

"No  !”  iuteri-upted  Father  Jerome  fiercely.  "It 
was  but  a cunning  parry  of  word-fence,  — an 
attempt  to  make  the  worse  appear  the  better 
reason  ; a lie  in  fact  and  intent ; a tissue  of  false- 
hoods from  beginning  to  end  : for  I did  not  believe 
a word  that  1 uttered.  God  forgive  me  for 
prostituting  such  talents  as  I possessed  to  defend- 
ing a cause  which  I now  declare  deserves  the 
execration  and  detestation  of  mankind  ! ” 

Father  Leonard  made  an  imploring  gesture. 
"You  are  beside  yourself!”  he  cried,  indig- 
nantly. " Femember  your  vows  ! Remember  the 
awful  curse  that  shall  fall  on  the  head  of  the 
apostate  priest  who,  for  any  cause,  dares  breathe 
such  blas|  )hemy  against  our  holy 'religion  ! ” 

"I  have  no  word  to  utter  against  what  you  call 
'our  holy  religion,”’  answered  Father  Jerome. 
"It  is  against  the  corruptions  and  abominations 
which  have  been  suffered  to  tarnish  its  former  glory 
that  I lift  up  my  voice.  I shall  die  as  I have  lived,  a 
devout  believer  in  the  Catholic  creed, — the  creed, 
j)ure  ami  simple,  mind  you,  as  it  was  first  estab- 
lished, as  it  was  administered  and  taught  by  the 
early  fathers  of  the  Church.  AVith  their  pure  and 
holy  faith,  I have  no  |uarrel.  I would  to  God  I 


THE  CHUECH  BLAMED  FOE  HIS  DOWNFALL.  233 


could  emulate  their  glorious  example  ! That  1 
could  go  forth  and  preach  that  noble  creed,  — that 
sublime  faith,  — preach  it  unto  the  uttermost  parts 
of  the  earth  ! But  no  ! ” he  groaned,  his  spirits 
suddenly  sinking  into  deep  dejection,  "my  day 
of  usefulness  has  departed  ; my  early  enthusiasm 
has  been  dissi})ated.  The  youthful  zeal  which 
would  have  welcomed  martyrdom  in  such  a cause 
was  long  ago  squandered,  — squandered  on  the 
veriest  shadow.  With  courage  loT,  with  hope 
forever  dead,  with  the  seeds  of  a deadly  disease 
implanted  in  my  system,  and,  worse  than  all,  the 
hopeless  victim  and  slave  of  an  undying  thirst 
for  strong  drink,  which  no  medicine  can  allay, 
no  power  of  will  control,  — what  is  there  left  for 
me  but  to  accept  my  fate,  stifle  conscience,  honor, 
duty,  and  drift  on  to  my  final  bourn,  — a drunk- 
ard’s grave  ! ” 

He  paused,  overcome  by  emotion.  At  that 
moment  Father  Leonard  might  have  ma'le  a 
changed  man  of  Keenan.  Now  was  the  golden 
opportunity  to  pour  the  balm  of  gentle  words  and 
hopeful  promise  on  his  lacerated  spirit ; now, 
when  the  iron  nature  of  the  man  w\as  softened  and 
melted,  as  it  were,  would  he  have  been  suscepti- 
ble to  sympathetic  influences. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  Leonard’s  soul  was  in 
arms  for  his  church.  Such  heresy  as  had  passed 


234 


FATHER  Keenan’s  confession. 


Father  Jerome’s  lips  must  he  met  and  put  down 
forthwith.  Every  other  issue,  save  this,  was 
thrust  into  the  background. 

"I  will  hear  no  more  !”  he  sternly  said.  "I 
may  feel  pity  for  your  misfortunes,  but  I execrate 
your  apostasy  ! You  have  dared  arraign  the  most 
holy  Catholic  Church,  have  uttered  foul  and  rank 
heresy  in  my  hearing, — I,  who  am  a priest  of  that 
church,  sworn  to  reprove  if  I cannot  punish  any 
attempt  to  dishonor  and  traduce  its  sacred  name 
and  traditions.  Why  are  you,  once  its  stoutest 
defender,  found  ranged  with  the  deadliest  enemies 
of  our  foith?  What,  I ask,  has  the  Church  done 
to  you  that,  with  paracidal  hand,  you  seek  to  strike 
her  a mortal  blow  ? ” 

The  words  and  the  severely  harsh  tone  in  which 
they  were  spoken  produced  a corresponding  effect 
upon  Father  Keenan.  His  manner  grew  hard, 
savage,  furious. 

” What  has  the  Church  done  to  me  ? ” he  repeated 
in  a voice  vibrating  with  passion.  "I  will  tell  you 
what  it  has  done.  It  has  ruined  and  destro}^ed 
me.  It  has  made  me  a cheat,  hypocrite,  thief, 
liar,  libertine,  — sot.” 

"False  traitor!”  exclaimed  Father  Leonard. 
"Lay  the  blame  where  it  belongs, — not  to  the 
Church,  whose  motto  is  piety,  chastity,  and 
temperance,  but  to  your  own  evil  and  corrupt 
nature.” 


THE  CHURCH  BLAMED  FOR  HIS  DOWNFALL.  235 

"There  spoke  the  Catholic  priest,”  said  Keenan 
mockingly.  "Forever  distorting  the  truth,  for- 
ever i^ildinof  error  with  the  shining  semblance  of 

O O 

truth.  Piety,  chastity,  temperance,  — ah  ! such 
may  be  its  motto,  but  how  does  it  live  up  to  that 
creed?  Listen  and  I will  tell  you.” 

" Beware  ! ” cried  Father  Leonard,  with  a warn- 
ing gesture.  " I will  not  tolerate  a word  further  of 
such  blasphemy  as  you  have  uttered  ! Vary  but 
a hair’s  breadth  from  the  truth  and  I leave  you  to 
your  fate  ! ” 

Father  Jerome’s  lip  curled  scornfully. 

"Remember,”  he  said,  "I  warned  you  that  if 
you  remained  you  Avould  hear  that  which  would  be 
disagreeable  to  your  ears.  Remember,  too,  that 
you,  not  I,  sought  this  interview.  But  so  be  it! 
It  is  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but 
the  truth,  I shall  speak.  First,  as  to  the  Church’s 
claim  to  upholding  ternperance.  I never  tasted  a 
drop  of  spirituous  liquor  until  I entered  holy 
orders.  My  first  sup  was  taken  at  the  altar,  when 
celebrating  my  first  mass.  Then  I saw  priests  on 
every  side,  — strong  advocates  of  temperance,  — 
drinking  in  each  other’s  company,  — never  when 
laymen  were  around,  of  course.  The  example  had 
its  due  effect.  I saw  that  drinking  was  no  sin 
unless  you  were  found  out^  and  so  brought  scandal 
on  the  Church.  I was  but  a curate  then.  The 


236 


FATHER  Keenan’s  confession. 


pastor  of  my  parish  kept  wine,  whiskey,  and 
brandy  continually  in  the  house.  It  was  as  free 
as  water  to  all  the  inmates.  Many  a symposium 
has  the  walls  of  that  house  witnessed.  He  con- 
tinually drank  himself,  was  generally  more  than 
half  full.  One  Sunday  morning  the  sexton  and 
myself  carried  him  half-robed  from  the  sanctuary. 
He  was  unal)le  to  celebrate  mass,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  announce  that  the  pastor  was  suddenly 
taken  ill.  Ill ! He  was  too  drunk  to  stand  ! It 
came  to  the  hi -hop’s  ears  ; but  he  was  a particular 
friend  of  the  priest’s,  and  so  the  matter  was  passed 
over  ill  silence.  That  same  priest  was  the  head 
of  a temperance  union. 

" With  such  surroundings,  — drinking  and  revels, 
wune  and  women  secretly  introduced  into  priests’ 
houses,  — I soon  ceased  to  resist,  ami  became  as 
the  rest.  At  length  I was  given  a parish,  — a 
small  one.  In  a few  years  it  was  one  of  the 
largest  parishes  in  the  diocese.  My  influence 
increased  steadily.  I built  a fine  churcb.  Money 
flowed  into  me,  — money  from  subscriptions, 
money  from  fairs,  money  from  poor  parishioners, 
who  had  more  faith  in  their  priest  than  in  breaking 
savings-banks.  No  books  were  kept ; disburse- 
ments were  made  at  my  own  option ; nobody 
called  me  to  account.  So  money  was  my  second 
temptation,  and  I spent  it  freely  for  my  personal 


THE  CHURCH  BLAMED  FOR  HIS  DOWNFALL.  237 


wants.  My  horses  were  blood  horses  ; my  wines, 
li(iiiors,  and  cigars  all  imported.  None  but  my 
God  will  ever  know  how  I fought  against  the 
temptations  that  beset  me  on  every  side.  jMy 
brother  priests  laughed  my  scruples  to  scorn. 
They  were  opposed  to  my  becoming  a saint,  — in 
the  flesh,  at  any  rate,  as  they  laughingly  expressed 
it.  I was  too  liberal,  too  good  a fellow,  to  turn 
monk.  I was  never  cut  out  for  an  ascetic  life, 
they  urged.  Alas  ! it  was  too  true.  My  history 
is  the  history  of  nine  tenths  of  the  clergy  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  It  is  the  Church  that  encourages 
this  immorality,  the  Church  that  winks  at  the 
sins  of  the  priesthood,  the  Church  that  punishes 
only  when  fearing  that  scandal  cannot  be  sup- 
pressed. 

"Yes,’'  he  continued,  with  rising  voice,  "I 
charge  the  Church  with  my  wrecked  hopes  and 
wasted  life : it  placed  temptation  before  me, 

schooled  me  in  its  deceptions,  taught  me  hypocrisy, 
— to  seem  Avhat  I was  not.  Preacliing  total  ab- 
stinence, and  practising  it  not ; preaching  honesty, 
while  embezzling  the  funds  intrusted  to  my  care  ; 
preaching  the  eflicacy  of  charms,  beads,  and  scap- 
ulars, knowing  it  to  be  false  and  pernicious  ; teach- 
ing the  deluded  people  that  they  can  go  to  heaven 
only  through  the  priest’s  prayers  and  mummeries 

" Oh  I ” he  cried,  with  a burst  of  strong  emotion, 


238 


FATHER  KEENAN’S  CONEESSION. 


" the  fatal  hour  that  made  me  a Catholic  priest ! In 
any  other  position  of  life  my  talents  would  have 
given  me  peace  and  hapi)iness,  made  me  a worthy 
citizen.  I shouM  have  been,  at  least,  an  honest. 
God-fearing  man,  able  to  look  my  fellows  in  the 
face  without  a blush  of  shame.  But  for  the 
Church,  I should  be  in  the  midst  of  a happy  house- 
hold, instead  of  an  inmate  of  this  dreary  cell ; 
with  dear  children  to  call  me  father,  a fond  wife  to 
love  and  make  life  sweet  and  blessed  by  her  min- 
istrations I Oh  for  that  home-altar,  so  often 
pictured  in  my  thoughts  ! Oh  for  the  joys  and 
calm,  peaceful  happiness  of  that  ideal  family  life, 
which  is  forever  forbidden  to  a priest ! Oh  ! that 
unnatural,  accursed  law  of  the  Church,  which  con- 
demns its  ministers  to  i)erpetual  celibacy,  — a law 
against  heaven  and  earth,  false  to  human  hopes, 
fake  to  nature’s  teachings  ; most  heartless,  sense- 
less, and  pernicious  of  all  the  ordinances  of  the 
Church.  I,  a priest,  know  whereof  1 speak; 
and  you.  Father  Leonard,  know  it  also,  though 
you  are  l)cund  to  deny  it,  — when  I say  that 
priestly  celibacy  is  the  great  crying  evil  of  the 
Church  Fruitful  cause  of  scandal  and  immoral- 
ity, of  homes  destroyed,  families  estranged,  of 
broken  hearts  and  ruined  lives  ! ” 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  Father  Leonard,  who, 
during  this  speech,  had  frequemly  broken  in  upon 


THE  CHURCH  BI^VMED  FOR  HIS  DOWNFALL.  239 


him  with  various  ejaculalious  of  disapproval,  and 
had  vainly  sought  to  stem  the  torrent  of  his  words. 

" Wretched  man  ! ” exclaimed  Leonard,  in  answer 
to  that  look, '' you  will  live  to  repent  this  blas- 
phemy and  treason  against  the  holy  ChurcL  that 
fed  and  clothed  you,  that  showered  her  bounties 
upon  you  without  stint,  that  would  have  exalted 
you,  and  which  only  cast  you  olf,  as  1 can  now 
believe,  when  to  retain  you  would  have  been  to 
nurse  a deadly  viper  in  her  bosom  ! Yes,  you  will 
repent,  1 say,  and  in  your  dying  hour  will  call  — 
lieaveu  grant  not  in  vain  ! — upon  her  now  despised 
power  to  give  you  that  consolation,  that  heavenly 
peace,  that  security  of  eternal  salvation  which  only 
she  caii  give  ! liemember  these  parting  words, 
unha})py  man  ; and  should  your  hour  come  before 
J myself  am  summoned  hence,  send  for  me,  how- 
ever distant  1 may  be,  and  1 })romise  you  to  leave 
the  dearest  duty  to  hasten  to  your  aid.  Until  that 
hour,  then,  farewell ! ” 

And  with  the  final  word  Father  Leonard  passed 
out  of  the  cell.  Once  more  the  door  clanged,  the 
bolts  rattled,  and  the  prisoner  was  left  to  his 
solitary  meditations. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


FATHER  Leonard’s  struggle. — ms  vision  of  future 

GREATNESS.  KATE  RANSOM’s  UNEXPECTED  VISIT. 

Late  on  the  clay  after  that  on  which  the  interview 
occnrred  with  Jerome  Keenan  in  the  police  station, 
Father  Leonard  was  sitting  alone  in  his  study. 
There  was  a cloud  upon  his  brow.  Many  cares 
and  anxieties  pressed  heavily  upon  him.  He  sat 
thoughtfully  gazing  into  the  hreplace,  in  which 
burned  a glowing  coal  tire.  Upon  his  knee  was 
lying  an  open  pamphlet,  the  covers  of  which  were 
time-worn  and  faded.  This  book  he  had  been 
reading,  refreshing  his  memory  upon  a subject 
which  some  years  ago  had  excited  deep  |)ublic 
interest.  At  the  time  of  its  publication  this 
brief  but  powerful  work  had  wrought  au  extraor- 
dinary influence  upon  Father  Leonard’.s  mind 
Pie  was  then  a young  man,  just  entering  the 
priesthood.  Ilis  temperament,  ardent  and  en- 
thusiastic, was  precisely  such  a one  as  this  mas- 
terly production,  written  by  a once  celebrated 
Catholic  divine,  was  calculated  to  profoundly  im- 
press. 

But  the  deep  erudition,  the  glowing  eloquence, 


HIS  VISION  OF  FUTUKE  GEEATNESS.  241 


the  flashing  satire,  and  crushing  logic,  which  had 
once  stirred  his  very  soul,  now  fell  cold  and  dead 
upon  it,  awakening  no  responsive  echo.  It  was  a 
copy  of  the  discourse  to  which  he  had  referred  in 
the  cell,  — that  remarkable  defence  of  Catholicism 
which  had  been  written  by  Father  Jerome  when 
at  the  height  of  his  power  and  in  the  zenith  of  his 
fame. 

Evening  was  setting  in,  the  short,  winter  twi- 
light had  faded,  and  the  room  was  filling  with 
shadows ; for,  absorbed  in  his  meditations.  Father 
Leonard  had  not  thought  to  ring  for  lights. 

At  length,  with  a weary  sigh,  the  priest  arose, 
laid  the  pamphlet  on  his  writing-table,  and  com- 
menced slowly  pacing  the  room,  while  now  and 
then  giving  utterance  aloud  to  his  thoughts  and 
ruminations. 

” Something  must  be  done,  and  at  once,”  he 
muttered,  with  an  emphatic  gesture.  " This  infatu- 
ated man  must  be  saved,  — must  be  induced  to 
return  to  the  communion  of  the  Church ; or,  at 
least,  some  means  found  to  effectually  seal  his  lips. 
Heavens  ! What  if  he  should  proclaim  from  the 
housetops  the  half  of  what  he  disclosed  to  me  ! 
What  if  he  repudiates  his  own  prmted  eulogy  of 
the  Church,  regardless  of  the  infamy  of  such  an 
act,  and  repeats  those  terrible  words,  ' It  was  all  a 
lie,  for  I did  not  believe  one  word  I uttered  I * 
16 


242 


FATHER  Leonard’s  struggle. 


Oh  ! I must  go  to  the  bishop  to-morrow  without 
fail ! He  will  see  the  necessity  of  taking  imme- 
diate action;  otherwise,  Father  Jerome,  in  his 
embittered  state  of  mind,  may  prove  as  dangerous 
a foe  to  the  Church  as  he  was  once  one  of  its  most 
formidable  champions. 

"But  how  can  he  be  influenced?  What  means 
be  employed  to  silence  him?”  he  continued,  after 
a moment’s  pause.  "If  he  is  so  desperate,  so 
utterly  hopeless,  as  he  seemed  to  be,  he  will  carry 
out  his  threat  of  exposures  in  spite  of  every  eflbrt 
to  restrain  him.  Oh,  that  the  Holy  Office  of 
the  Inquisition  were  established  here  in  America  ! 
Oh,  for  some  power  to  smite  or  extirpate  the 
enemies  of  the  Church  I Oh,  for  some  strong  hand 
to  crush  out  this  heretical  spirit  of  free  inquiry 
that  is  slowly  but  surely  undermining  her  glorious 
power  and  influence  ! ” 

His  reflections  presently  took  another  direction, 
and  he  continued  : — 

" Can  this  traitor’s  charges  be  true  ? Can  the 
priesthood  be  so  vile?  No,  no!  Impossible  I I 
will  not  believe  it  I They  were  but  the  ravings  of 
a disordered  mind  I A mind  overthrown  by  con- 
stant brooding  upon  fancied  wrongs  I A brain 
diseased  and  unhinged  by  a long  course  of  dissi- 
pation. No,  no  ! ” he  repeated  almost  wildly,  " I 
will  not,  dare  not  believe  there  was  truth  in  that 


ms  VISION  OF  FUTURE  GREATNESS.  243 

sweeping  arraignment  of  the  Church  and  the  priest- 
hood ! ” 

Suddenl}^  his  mood  changed,  and  it  was  in  a 
voice  of  the  utmost  despondency  that  he  added  : — 

"And  yet,  why  should  I seek  to  delude  myself? 
It  is  only  the  physically  and  the  morally  blind  who 
see  not  the  evils  surrounding  them.  ' None  so 
blind  as  those  who  will  not  see,’  says  the  maxim. 
AVhy  should  I deny  to  myself  that  which  my  own 
eyes  have  too  often  witnessed?  Have  I not  seen 
priests  false  to  their  vows,  yet  permitted  to  retain 
their  pastorates  ? Seen  the  sacred  vessels  debased, 
and  the  very  altar  defiled?  Have  not  my  own  ears 
received  confessions  that  if  known  to  the  w’orld 
would  bring  down  an  avalanche  of  execration  on 
the  Church?  Have  I not,  in  my  capacity  of  spirit- 
ual adviser,  counselled  forbearance  and  mercy  in 
cases  where  exposure  would  scandalize  our  holy 
faith,  believing,  — God  forgive  me  if  I did  wrong, 
— as  I have  been  taught  to  believe,  that  the  in- 
terests of  the  Church  were  paramount  to  individual 
rights  and  to  individual  wronofs?  Oh!  the 
Church  ! the  Church  I I weep  to  see  thee  so  cruelly 
betrayed,  so  foully  wronged  by  thy  trusted  ser- 
vants I My  soul  sickens  at  the  crimes  committed 
in  thy  sacred  name  ! O most  Holy  Redeemer  I ’’ 
he  cried,  flinging  himself  in  an  agony  of  passion 
before  a crucifix  upon  the  wall,  " come  to  the  aid 


244 


FATHER  Leonard’s  struggle. 


of  thy  stricken  Church  ! Inspire  thy  ministers 
with  holy  zeal  and  ardor ! Inllame  thy  servants’ 
hearts  with  glorious  enthusiasm ! Let  them 
ellace  the  spots  from  their  garments ! Purify 
the  altar,  and  purge  thy  tabernacle  of  every 
stain  ! ” 

A long  interval  passed  before  Leonard  arose 
from  his  knees,  and,  when  he  once  more  stood 
erect,  the  light  of  a new-born  purpose  gleamed 
in  his  eyes. 

From  that  moment  another  existenee  began  for 
Fa; her  Leonard.  That  night,  while  [)rostrate  be- 
fore the  image  of  the  crucified  Saviour,  he  had 
consecrated  himself  heart  and  soul  to  the  work  of 
reform.  Reform  in  the  Church,  reform  in  the 
clergy,  reform  in  the  laity,  reform  in  himself. 

His  field  of  usefulness  might  be  a limited  one  as 
yet.  His  own  parish  must  suffice  for  the  present. 
But  in  the  dim  future  a splendid  vision  rose  up  be- 
fore him.  A vision  of  a wider  sphere  of  action, 
in  which  he  saw  himself  no  longer  the  humble  par- 
ish priest,  but  a prince  of  the  Church,  presiding 
over  a vast  constituency,  powerful,  respected,  and 
beloved. 

As  the  saints  of  old,  in  their  midnight  vigils, 
amid  penance  of  fasting  and  prayer,  beheld  those 
glorious  visions  of  immortal  spirits  and  angels, 
and  even  the  Divine  Semblance  itself,  so  in  that 


HIS  VISION  OF  FUTURE  GREATNESS. 


245 


shiidowy,  darkened  room,  in  his  exalted  state  of 
enthusiasm,  Fatlu-r  Leonard  witnessed  each  step 
of  his  future  progress  toward  the  goal  of  his  new 
ambition. 

Gigantic  indeed  was  the  task  he  had  assumed  ; 
daring  the  ambition  which  he  aimed  to  grasp. 
But  faith  such  as  his  has  often  conquered  seem- 
ingly invincible  obstacles.  Whether  Father  Leon- 
ard is  to  realize  that  splendid  dreamr  or  whether 
he  will  sink,  fainting  and  exhausted,  by  the  way- 
side,  future  pages  of  this  book  may  show. 

” What  I have  seen,”  he  said  once  more,  as 
seated  again  in  his  chair  he  brushed  the  damp 
sweat  from  his  heated  brow,  ” the  vision  I have 
seen  may  be  an  idle  dream.  But  from  such 
dreams  spring  glorious  realities.  Hard  and  thorny 
is  the  path  as  it  lay  stretched  out  before  my  gaze. 
But  I could  pursue  it  with  unfaltering  steps.  Yes, 
with  heaven’s  ai)proval,  to  a bitter  or  a glorious 
end,  as  heaven  shall  decide  ! Self-sacrifice,  self- 
discipline  have  accomplished  all  the  lasting  wonders 
of  the  world.  Yes,  it  will  cost  me  infinite  toil, 
unwearied  effort.  Misrepresentation,  distrust  of 
my  motives,  calumny  with  its  envenomed  shaft, — 
all  may  assail  me.  Even  life  itself  may  be  at- 
tacked ! But,  whatever  the  result,  whatever  my 
fate,  the  sacrifice  shall  be  made  ! ” 

He  sank  back  in  his  chair,  his  head  fell  forward 


246 


FATHER  LEONARD’S  STRUGGLE. 


on  his  ])roibst,  his  face  growing  deadly  pale.  He 
felt  weak  and  exhausted.  For  twent^^-four  hours 
Leonard  had  not  closed  his  eyes  in  slumber.  Not 
since  he  had  parted  from  Father  Keenan  had  sleep 
visited  his  eyelids.  All  the  previous  night  he  had 
walked  the  floor  of  his  study,  his  mind  torn  and 
agikited  by  agonies  of  doubt  and  despoiidency. 
The  duties  of  the  day  had  found  him,  as  ever,  at 
his  post,  unflagging  and  unwearied  in  their  varied 
performance.  Not  until  he  had  quieted  every 
doubt  and  fear,  not  till  his  future  had  been  clearly 
mapped  out  by  his  resolute  will,  could  he  yield  to 
nature’s  promptings. 

But  even  then  he  was  not  suflfered  to  rest.  The 
duties  of  the  day  were  far  from  being  ended  for 
Father  Leonard.  A knock  came  at  the  door.  It 
was  thrice  repeated  before  the  priest  could  rouse 
himself  from  the  lethargy  that  was  stealing  over 
him,  sufficient  to  answer. 

^^Come  in,”  he  said,  at  length,  in  feeble  tones, 
and  Bridget,  his  housekeeper,  entered.  She  was 
a stout,  wholesome-looking  Irishwoman,  old 
enough  to  be  Father  Leonard’s  own  mother,  and 
had,  indeed,  supplied  a mother’s  place  to  him  since 
his  early  boyhood,  both  of  his  parents  having  died 
when  he  was  but  a mere  child. 

"Sure,  an’  yer  riverence  is  not  sittin’  in  the 
dai’k,”-  exchiimed  Bridget.  "Faith,  an’  ye  can 


HIS  VISION  OF  FUTURE  GREATNESS.  247 


hardly  see  yer  hand  afore  ye  ! It ’s  yer  tay  has 
been  awaitin’  ye  this  hour  gone,”  she  continued, 
as  she  lit  a student’s  lamp  on  the  table.  "Twict 
afore  have  I been  up  to  call  ye,  but  I heered  ye  a 
preachin’  ter  yerself,  an’  a walkin’  up  an’  down. 
But  it ’s  not  sick  that  ye  are,  Father?”  she  added, 
noticing  for  the  tirst  time  his  pallid  countenance. 

"No,  Bridget.  ’Tis  but  a passing  faintness. 
Give  me  a glass  of  water,  please.” 

" Wather  I A glass  of  wine.”  And  the  startled 
woman  was  hastening  out  of  the  room  when 
Father  Leonard  stopped  her  by  an  imperious 
gesture. 

” Never  offer  wine  to  me  as  long  as  you  live, 
woman  ! ” he  exclaimed,  sternly.  ''  Henceforth, 
see  to  it  that  not  one  drop  of  Avine  or  spirituous 
liquor  shall  be  brought  into  this  house  by  any 
one  ! ” 

Father  Leonard’s  word  Avas  law  to  Bridget  Mon- 
ahan, and,  though  she  may  have  wondered,  she 
made  no  comment  regarding  the  command.  She 
gave  liim  a tumbler  of  water  and  then  hastened  to 
bring  his  tea  and  toast. 

"It’s  better  you  are  now.  Father  dear?” 
Bridget  asked,  as  he  finished  liis  frugal  meal. 

"Yes.,  thank  you,  Bridget,”  said  the  priest. 

"Will  thin,  there’s  a young  gal  below  that’s 
in  a great  taking  ter  see  yer  riverence,”  said 


248 


FATUER  Leonard’s  struggle. 


Bridget.  " Sure  an’  I would  n’t  let  yer  be  dis- 
turbed till  yer ’d  bad  yer  supper.” 

" What ’s  her  name  ? ” 

"Faith  an’  I dunno,  for  I forgot  ter  ask.  But 
sure  an’  she  seems  ter  be  in  great  dishtress.” 

"In  that  case  bring  her  here  at  once,”  said 
Leonard. 

Bridget  departed  and  soon  returned,  ushering  in 
the  visitor,  who  to  his  great  sui’prise  Leonai’d  saw 
was  Kate  Kansom. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


FATHER  Leonard’s  temptation.  — rate  ransom’s 

CONFESSION. A TRUST  BETRAYED. 

When  Father  Leonard  perceived  who  his  vis- 
itor was,  he  could  scarcely  repress  an  exclamation 
of  astonishment. 

It  was  the  first  time  the  young  girl  had  ever 
paid  his  house  a visit.  In  fact,  Father  Leonard 
rarely  encouraged  domiciliary  visits  from  his  femi- 
nine parishioners.  Possibly  he  was  suspicious  of 
the  sisterhood  ! 

But  he  had  known  Kate  Ransom  for  many 
years.  She,  as  well  as  Nell  Murray,  was  a 
graduate  of  the  parochial  school  which  Leonard 
had  established,  and  which  had  been  prosperous 
from  its  be<^inninf^.  But  while  Kate  had  ever 
been  a favorite  and  a favored  pupil,  Nell  had  been 
quite  the  reverse. 

At  a si«:n  from  her  master,  Brid<2:et  withdrew. 
As  the  door  closed,  Leonard  placed  a chair  for  his 
visitor,  and  motioned  for  her  to  be  seated.  It  was 
some  seconds  before  the  priest  could  command  his 
voice  to  speak,  so  agitated  was  he  by  contending 
feelings.  At  last  he  said,  — 


250 


FATHER  LEONARD’S  TEMPTATION. 


”You  are  hi  distress,  my  child.  What  has 
happened?  Pray  tell  me  how  I can  serve  you.” 

"I  must  first  ask  your  pardon,  Father,  for  this 
intrusion,”  said  Kate,  speaking  with  much  diffi- 
culty. 

"You  have  it,  my  child.  I know  it  must  be 
upon  some  urgent  matter  that  you  have  come,” 
said  Leonard,  looking  kindly  at  her  agitated  face, 
which  to  him  never  seemed  so  lovely  before. 

"Yes,  Father,  the  matter  is  very  urgent,”  re- 
turned Kate  ; " so  urgent  that  I have  acted  on  my 
first  impulse,  and  flown  to  you  for  advice  and  help, 
when,  perhaps,  I should  have  sought  them  else- 
where.” 

" Who  would  better  advise  you  than  your  pas- 
tor, your  father-confessor,  and,  I need  not  add, 
your  friend  f said  Leonard,  with  gentle  reproach 
in  look  and  tone. 

" Oh,  I know  you  are  my  friend,  dear  Father,” 
said  the  young  girl.  "You  have  always  been  so 
kind  to  me  and  mine.  We  all,  my  parents  and 
myself,  respect  and  esteem  you  very  much.  And 
that  is  what  makes  it  so  hard  for  me  to  tell  yon 
what  I have  come  to  confess.  I fear  to  lose  your 
good  opinion.  Oh ! you  will  not  be  harsh  with 
me?  You  will  pity  and  forgive  me,  will  you  not. 
Father?” 

Looking  upon  the  young  girl’s  beautiful  coun- 


KATE  ransom’s  CONFESSION. 


251 


tenance,  so  beseeching,  so  agituted  and  distressed, 
and  3^earning  to  comfort  and  cheer  her,  perhaps 
the  strongest  temptation  of  his  life  assailed  Father 
Leonard  at  that  moment. 

For  years  he  had  been  a frequent  visitor  at  the 
Kansoms’  home,  and  was  ever  a welcome  guest, 
lie  had  seen  Kate  grow  up  from  a child  to  woman- 
hood. Her  character  had  unfolded  under  his  very 
eye,  as  it  were,  and  he  had  marked  with  ever- 
increasing  interest  the  expansion  of  qualities  which 
promised  to  develop  into  a noble  and  beautiful 
maturity. 

But  never  till  now,  with  that  appealing  look  in 
her  dark  eyes,  and  with  the  confession  just  from 
her  lips  that  she  had  hastened  to  him  the  first  of 
all  for  help  and  counsel  in  her  trouble, — never 
till  now  did  he  become  aware  of  the  true  nature 
and  strength  of  his  feelings  toward  her.  It  was 

o o 

a startling  revelation  to  Leonard.  He  was  a 
priest,  but  he  was  also  a man,  and  with  all  a 
man’s  strong  passions  bounding  and  rioting  in 
his  veins.  But  these  passions  had  always  been 
under  control  of  a powerful  will.  Would  that 
will  sustain  him  now?  Would  the  priest  or  the 
man  triumph? 

He  made  a strong  effort  for  the  master}^  now, 
and  it  gave  to  his  tone  an  unconsciouily  stern 
emphasis,  as  he  replied  evasively : — 


252 


FATHER  Leonard’s  temptation. 


"Pity  should  ever  be  accorded  to  the  erring; 
forgiveness  to  the  penitent  only.” 

The  tone  and  words  both  surprised  and  wounded 
Kate.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Father  Leonard 
had  ever  spoken  so  coldly  to  her.  She  looked  at 
him  for  an  instant  in  mute  wonder,  and  then  sud- 
denly burst  into  tears. 

" Oh,  you  condemn  me  unheard,  Father ! ” sho 
sobbed,  wringing  her  hands  piteously.  "I  shall 
never  have  the  courage  to  tell  you  my  story 
now  !” 

Leonard  was  inexpressibly  shocked  at  this  un- 
expected effect  of  his  words,  and,  with  a quick 
revulsion  of  feeling,  impulsively  sprang  to  her 
side  and  caught  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"Nay;  my  dear  child,”  he  said,  with  great  ten- 
derness, "you  entirely  misjudge  me.  There, 
there  ! Be  calm,  I beg  of  you  ! Do  not  give  way 
to  this  excess  of  grief.  Whatever  you  may  have 
to  reveal,  you  will  find  me,  as  ever,  your  true 
friend.  I could  not  be  unjust  to  you,  my  child ; 
I could  not  be  a harsh  judge  to  yow,  — you  of  all 
others  in  the  world  ! ” 

The  last  words  were  spoken  involuntarily,  under 
stress  of  an  irresistible  impulse.  The  next  instant 
Leonard  would  have  bitten  his  tongue  off  to  have 
been  able  to  recall  them. 

Kate  looked  at  him  in  surprise  through  her 


KATE  ransom’s  CONFESSION. 


253 


tears,  as  in  his  vexation  he  hastily  dropped  her 
liands  and  moved  back  a step  or  two  from  her. 
She  was  far  from  suspecting  the  cause  of  the 
priest’s  strange  demeanor,  however.  But  she  felt 
encouraged  by  what  he  had  said,  and  after  much 
hesitation,  proceeded  to  acquaint  him  with  the 
object  of  her  visit. 

"You  know.  Father,”  she  began,  "that  Nellie 
jMurray  and  I have  been  friends  and  companions 
from  childhood?” 

"Yes,  I am  aware  of  it,  my  child,”  said  Leon- 
ard gravely,  as  she  paused,  " and  I have  always 
regretted  the  fact.” 

" ^Ye  have  loved  each  other  very  dearly.  Father,” 
continued  Kate,  earnestly,  " and  it  is  because  I 
love  her  as  a friend,  as  a sister,  indeed,  that  I 
have  come  to  you  to  beg  and  implore  you  to  aid 
me  in  saving  her  from  committing  a great  folly ; 
rather,  a terrible  sin  ! ” 

" Then  it  is  not  on  your  own  account  that  you 
are  here?”  Leonard  interposed,  quickly,  with  a 
searching  look.  "You  have  not  been  a party  to 
Miss  Murray’s  wrong-doing?  ” 

"Alas,  Father,  I have  thoughtlessly  aided  and 
abetted  her  in  a grievous  wrong,  a very  wicked 
deception,”  said  the  young  girl,  with  a burst  of 
emotion. 

" Proceed,  my  child,”  said  Leonard,  suppressing 


254 


FATHER  Leonard’s  temptation. 


his  delight  at  this  candid  confession.  " And  please 
come  to  the  point  at  once.” 

Thus  urged,  Kate  told  him  that  Nell  had  for 
some  time  past  received  the  attentions  of  a young 
gentleman  to  whom  her  parents  were  averse. 
They  had  forbidden  him  to  come  to  their  house, 
and  ordered  their  daughter  not  to  hold  any  further 
communication  with  him.  Notwithstanding  this 
injunction,  the  lovers  had  continued  to  meet  clan- 
destinely, until  at  last  suspicion  was  aroused,  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  MuiTay  had  determined  to  place 
Nell  in  a distant  convent  forthwith. 

''  And  you  have  lent  yourself  to  this  deceit  ? ” 
said  Leonard,  in  a tone  of  severity. 

"I  did  not  think  of  the  harm.  Father,”  cried 
Kate,  again  bursting  into  tears.  ” Oh,  I knew 
they  loved  each  other  so  fondly  ! And  then,  how 
could  I betray  my  friend  ? Oh,  believe  me.  Father, 
I have  been  terribly  tried,  between  the  promptings 
of  conscience  and  my  friendship  for  poor  Nell.” 

" How  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Murray’s  suspicions 
aTOUsed?”  asked  Father  Leonard,  abruptly. 

This  question  seemed  to  confuse  Kate  for  a 
moment.  She  hesitated,  then  said,  — 

"Nell  was  out  very  late  a few  nights  ago.  She 
— she  went  to  a dance  in  company  with  her  lover, 
and  it  seems  some  one  informed  her  parents  of  it 
the  next  day.” 


KATE  ransom’s  CONFESSION. 


255 


That  some  one  was  Father  Leonard  himself,  but 
he  did  not  choose  to  acknowledge  the  fact  just  yet. 
His  instincts  and  training  as  a priest  prompted  him 
to  glean  what  intelligence  he  could  without  be- 
traying bis  knowledge  until  it  should  serve  his 
purpose. 

"They  were  very  much  grieved  and  indignant,” 
continued  Kate.  "You  know  what  a harsh,  reso- 
lute man  Mr.  Murray  is.  Father.  He  had  threat- 
ened once  before  to  send  Xell  to  the  Convent  of 
the  Sacred  Heart  if  she  disobeyed  him  and  ever 
met  her  lover  again ; and  now  he  vows  to  carry 
out  his  threat.” 

Father  Leonard  mused  a minute  or  two  before 
he  said,  inquiringly,  — 

"And  to  prevent  this  just  punishment  these 
foolish  lovers  propose  to  elope.  Is  that  the  drift 
of  your  tale,  my  child?” 

"Alas,  yes.  Father!  Oh,  believe  me,  I plead 
and  besought  Nell  not  to  take  that  fatal  step  I I 
urged  every  argument  I could  think  of,  but  with- 
out avail.  She  is  infatuated,  and  would  listen  to 
no  advice.” 

" \Yhen  do  they  propose  to  run  away  ? ” 

" To-morrow  afternoon.” 

"There  is  time  enough  then  to  prevent  it,”  mut- 
tered Leonard  to  himself.  And  aloud  he  said, 
" You  perceive,  my  child,  how  one  sin  necessitates 


256 


FATHER  Leonard’s  temptation. 


another.  This  foolish  couple  cannot  hope  to  he 
married,  at  least  by  a Catholic  priest.  No  priest 
would  unite  a pair  of  runaways.  Only  a Protes- 
tant minister  or  a magistrate  could  wed  them,  and 
such  a marriage  is  banned  by  the  Church.” 

" It  was  that  consideration  which  led  me  to  de- 
termine at  the  very  last  to  save  Nell,  in  spite  of 
herself,  from  committing  a deadly  sin.  Father.  I 
overheard  them  deciding  to  fly  to  New  York,  and 
once  there  to  bo  married  by  a Protestant  clergy- 
man.” 

" Holy  Virgin  forbid  ! ” exclaimed  Leonard,  hor- 
rified at  the  thought.  " And  this  girl,  this  wicked, 
wretched,  intriguing  girl,  was  a pupil  in  my  school, 
a member  of  my  congregation  !”  he  added,  mourn- 
fully. " Her  lover,  then,  is  doubtless  a heretic, 
and  has  persuaded  her  to  secretly  renounce  her  faith, 
and  so  incur  the  penalty  of  eternal  damnation?” 

”Alas,  Father,  he  also  is  a Catholic,”  responded 
Kate,  looking  uneasily  at  Father  Leonard,  for  she 
dreaded  to  give  him  the  blow  which  she  foresaw 
must  follow  upon  his  next  question. 

" Ha  ! ” cried  Leonard,  greatly  startled.  ” Who 
is  this  man?  Do  I know  him?  His  name,  tell  me 
quickly  his  name  ! ” 

In  his  excitement  he  forcibly  grasped  the  girl’s 
wrist,  and  wrung  it  so  hard  that  she  gave  a cry  of 
pain ; but  of  this  he  was  evidently  unconscious. 


KATE  RANSOM^S  CONFESSION. 


257 


"'Why  don’t  you  answer?”  cried  the  priest,  a 
vague  suspicion  haunting  him  as  he  noticed  Kate’s 
hesitation  and  evident  reluctance  to  impart  the 
desired  information. 

At  last  the  answer  came  in  low,  tremulous 
tones : — 

" You  know  him  only  too  well,  Father,  — Frank 
Barry ! ” 

Father  Leonard’s  eyes  seemed  suddenly  to  be- 
come set  and  staring,  like  a dying  man’s  ; his  jaw 
fell ; one  hand  mechanically  sought  his  forehead 
in  a vague,  helpless  way.  It  had  so  chanced  that 
when  Leonard  followed  the  two  girls  to  the  dance- 
hall  and  recognized  them,  he  had  not  seen  their 
escort,  Frank  Barry. 

" I could  not  surely  have  heard  you  aright,”  he 
said,  slowly,  at  last,  in  a dazed  tone.  "Repeat 
the  name  ! ” 

Kate  did  so. 

"Kot  my  Frank  ! ” he  said,  in  the  same  helpless, 
vacant  manner,  and  groping  aimlessly  with  his 
hands  through  the  air.  "Kot  the  little  boy  I 
found,  friendless,  homeless,  as  1 was  at  his  age  ! 
The  tender,  innocent  child,  whose  lovely  face  and 
appealing  blue  eyes,  as  I saw  them,  irradiating,  as 
it  were,  the  very  slime  and  ooze  of  the  gutter, 
warmed  and  brightened  my  chilled  and  desolate 
heart!  Not  the  little  lad  I drew  out  of  a very 


258  FATHER  LEONARD’S  TEMPTATION. 

sink-hole  of  contamination  and  made  him  mine! 
Clothed  him,  fed  him,  educated  him,  and  loved 
him,”  — his  voice  growing  huskier  and  more 
husky,  and  breaking  completely  on  the  last  word, 
— "loved  him,  oh!  my  God  I as  Abraham  loved 
Isaac,  as  David  loved  Absalom  ! Not  ray  boy,  I 
say  I ’ T is  false  ! A shameful,  hideous  lie  ! I ’ll 
not  believe  it ! No,  thouijh  an  anijel  from  heaven 
told  it  me  I Why  don’t  you  speak,  girl?”  he 
cried,  in  frantic  tones,  and  glaring  like  a maniac 
upon  the  shrinking  and  weeping  maiden.  " Do  you 
not  see  my  agony  ? Have  compassion  on  me  I 
Pity  me,  and  in  the  name  of  the  Mother  of 
Mercies,  tell  me  this  traitor,  this  perjurer  and 
deceiver,  is  not  my  boy ! ” 

" Father  I dear  Father  ! ” cried  the  weeping  Kate, 
extending  her  clasped  hands  toward  him,  "if  I only 
knew  how  to  comfort  you  I ” 

The  despairing  words  told  the  stricken  man  that 
he  was  indulging  in  the  very  mockery  of  hope. 
It  was  hard  indeed  for  him  to  believe  the  terrible 
truth  all  at  once. 

"I  had  planned  it  all  so  differently,”  he  said, 
presently,  and  in  a calmer  lone.  "I  had  hoped, 
nay  prayed  that  you  — yes,  you  two,  my  favorite 
pupils,  nearest  and  dearest  to  my  heart  — might 
be  drawn  toward  each  other.  To  see  him,  in  the 
fulness  of  time,  your  husband,  Kate,  would  have 


KATE  ransom’s  CONFESSION. 


259 


given  me  peace,  if  not  joy.  To  liim^  my  child,  I 
could  have  given  you  with  scarcely  a pang ; cer- 
tainly v/ith  less  pain  than  to  see  you  the  wife  of 
any  other  man  on  the  face  of  the — Ha ! what 
drivel  am  I uttering?  ” 

He  checked  himself,  suddenly,  as  he  saw  how 
nearly  he  had  betrayed  his  heart’s  secret.  But 
Kate,  in  her  innocence,  had  not  the  dimmest  sus- 
picion of  the  truth.  She  gave  him  a compassionate 
look,  and  said,  — 

"I  am  so  sorry  to  be  the  bearer  of  this  bad 
news,  Father.  1 dreaded  so  to  tell  you  of  it,  but 
I felt  too  guilty  for  my  share  in  the  deception  to 
keep  it  to  myself  any  longer.  O Father,  tell  me 
that  you  forgive  me  for  concealing  my  knowledge 
so  long ! ” 

"With  all  my  heart,  daughter,”  said  the  priest. 
" A late  repentance  is  better  than  none.  But  ah, 
my  child,  see  how  heaven  chastens  our  vain 
ambitions  ! How  wofully  our  cherished  plans  turn 
out ! There  is  nothing  sure  but  death  for  all 
mankind,  and  a glorious  immortality  for  the  right- 
eous. Death!”  he  repeated,  mournfully,  "oh, 
why  does  it  not  come  for  me?  I am  alone  in  this 
world  I Alone  I No  ties,  no  kindred ; neither 
child  nor — ” 

He  struck  his  hand  upon  his  mouth  as  if  to  force 
back  the  word  that  had  almost  escaped,  — the  word 


260 


FATHER  Leonard’s  temptation. 


wife^  that  would  have  been  sacrilege  upon  his  lips. 
And  at  the  same  time  it  flashed  on  his  mind  where 
and  by  whom  he  had  heard  the  identical  thought 
expressed  in  a similar  agony  of  soul,  — wrung 
from  a heart  bursting  with  bitter  disappointment 
and  vain  regrets  ; from  the  prisoner  of  the  police 
station,  the  gifted,  but  dissolute  Father  Jerome. 

Father  Leonard  was  human,  though  a priest. 
But  a turning  point  in  his  life  had  now  come. 
Henceforth  he  was  to  be  all  priest;  all  for  the 
Church  ; all  for  reform. 

He  had  always  looked  upon  Kate  Ransom  as 
one  highly  adapted  to  lead  a devotional  life.  If 
he  could  wean  her  from  worldly  hopes  and  ties, 
induce  her  to  look  with  favor  upon  a religious 
career,  persuade  her  to  enter  a convent,  and  in 
the  end  assume  the  veil,  it  would  be  a signal 
triumph  for  the  Church,  and  redound  to  his  own 
credit.  Already  he  had  broached  the  subject  to 
Kate’s  parents.  They,  being  devoted  Catholics, 
and  having  several  other  children,  were  strongly 
inclined  to  encourage  the  idea.  It  remained  then 
only  to  work  upon  the  pliant  and  enthusiastic  mind 
of  Kate.  Of  the  result  Leonard  had  no  doubt. 
It  was  with  this  ultimate  purpose  in  view  that  the 
priest  proceeded  as  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


KATE  ransom’s  AGONY.  — SHE  CONSENTS  TO  ENTER  A 
CONVENT. WHAT  BECAME  OF  NELL  MURRAY. 

”But  you  have  not  told  me  all,  my  child?’’ 
Father  Leonard  suddenly  said,  after  an  interval  of 
silence. 

" All?”  repeated  Kate,  looking  at  him  uneasily. 

"Nay,  I will  question  you,  my  child,  and  so 
relieve  you  of  some  embarrassment.  You  appear 
to  have  been  fully  in  the  confidence  of  these  lovers. 
At  what  time  did  your  friends^'  — he  emphasized 
the  word  slightly  — " leave  this  dance  of  which  you 
have  spoken?” 

"About  ten  o’clock.  Father.” 

"But  that  was  not  so  very  late.  At  what  time 
did  they  get  home  ? ” 

"It  — it  was  almost  midnight,”  Kate  answered, 
hesitatingly. 

"Ah  ! And  where  was  the  interval  spent?  ” 

"At  a restaurant.  Father;  or  rather,  I should 
say,  at  the  Parker  House.” 

"Ha!”  exclaimed  the  priest.  "An  expensive 
place  for  a supper  ; so,  at  least,  Boston’s  city  gov- 
ernment, or,  rather,  her  tax-payers,  have  found  it  I 


262  KATE  RANSOxM  ENTERS  A CONVENT. 


I suppose  it  was  for  a supper  or  lunch  that  our 
young  friends  adjourned  thither?” 

"Yes,  Father.” 

"And  this  collation  was  a simple,  frugal  meal?” 
inquired  the  priest,  with  veiled  sarcasm. 

" It  was  what  they  called  a wine-supper,  Father.” 

Leonard  gave  a violent  start.  All  this  cate- 
chising was  for  a specific  purpose.  Now  that  he 
had  learned  of  Frank  Barry’s  deceit  toward  him, 
his  friend  and  benefactor,  dark  suspicions  of  his 
inlegrity  had  been  awakened  in  his  mind,  which 
several  heretofore  singular  and  unaccountable  cir- 
cumstances, now  remembered,  tended  to  strengthen. 
First  he  recollected  Frank’s  haggard  and  worn 
looks  of  late,  which  had  been  attributed  to  late 
hours  of  severe  study,  but  which  were  more  likely 
the  effects  of  secret  dissipations.  Again,  the 
young  man  had  been  intrusted  wdth  funds  arising 
from  receipts  for  church,  school,  and  various 
parish  purposes,  and,  having  every  confidence  in 
him,  Leonard  had  left  to  him  the  duty  of  disburs- 
ing much  of  the  money  for  general  expenditures. 
Once  a month,  indeed,  Frank  had  submitted  his 
accounts  for  inspection,  but  Leonard  now  reflected 
that  he  had  audited  these  accounts  in  an  extremely 
careless  and  perfunctory  manner.  What  if  the 
accounts  should  not  be  all  right?  Leonard,  after 
a moment’s  thought,  pursued  his  interrogatories. 


mi  AT  BECAME  OF  NELL  MURRAY. 


263 


"And  Frank  Barry,  of  course,  paid  for  this 
costly  entertainment?”  he  asked. 

" No ; that  is,  not  entirely,  I believe,  Father,” 
answered  Kate,  who  began  to  feel  uncomfortable 
under  this  searching  inquisition. 

"xVh!  How  was  that?” 

"A  gentleman  friend  of  Frank’s  was  with  the 
party  and  settled  half  the  bill,”  said  Kate,  looking 
away  from  the  keen  scrutiny  that  was  fixed  upon 
her  countenance. 

"A  friend  of  Frank’s?” 

"Yes,  Father,  a — a Mr.  Lawler,”  with  a rosy 
blush. 

At  the  mention  of  this  name,  Father  Leonard 
uttered  an  exclamation. 

"I  am  acquainted  with  a gentleman  of  that 
name,  Mr.  Michael  Lawler,  one  of  Boston’s  lead- 
ing citizens,  very  wealthy,  and  a stanch  Catholic,” 
said  he. 

"Frank’s  friend  is  the  son  of  that  gentleman,” 
replied  Kate,  whose  face  wa«^  now  burning  red. 

Again  Father  Leonard  uttered  a low  cry. 

"But  this  son  is  not  like  his  father,”  he  said; 
"he  is  a very  bad  man,  I have  heard,  — a sporting 
character,  with  all  that  the  term  implies.” 

"Oh,  he  has  been  traduced  and  maligned,  be- 
lieve me.  Father,”  cried  Kate,  warmly;  and  then 
averting  her  head  in  confusion  at  having  betrayed 


264  KATE  RANSOM  ENTERS  A CONVENT. 

SO  much  interest  in  the  man  under  discussion,  an 
utter  strano^er  to  her  but  a short  week  a^ro. 

This  show  of  interest  was  not  lost  on  Leonard. 
His  brow  grew  dark.  He  placed  one  hand  upon 
his  heart,  as  if  to  stifle  some  sharp,  sudden  pain, 
and  then  rose  slowly  from  his  chair.  Sadly  he 
looked  down  upon  the  fliir,  young  girl,  whose  face 
was  now  a study  in  the  quick  flashes  of  color  which 
came  and  went  upon  it  under  that  reproachful  gaze. 

"And  3^011,  too,  Kate  ! ” said  Leonard,  in  accents 
such  as  dying  Caesar  may  have  used  when  the 
dagger  of  his  dearest  friend  smote  him  to  the 
heart. 

The  young  girl  suddenlj^  flung  herself  at  Leon-’ 
ard’s  feet. 

" Forgive  me,  Father  ! ” she  cried,  piteously. 
"Oh  ! if  you  knew  what  1 have  suffered  this  week 
past,  3^ou  would  pity  and  forgive  me.  Yes,  I see 
you  do  know  all, — all  my  deceit,  my  folly,  and 
my  wickedness.  Indeed,  I came  here  to  confess 
all  to  you,  but,  somehow,  I lost  courage  at  last. 

Her  face  was  streaming  with  tears  of  contrition  ; 
she  wrung  her  hands  in  wild  appeal.  Leonard  was 
dee{)ly  moved. 

" Yes,  I know  all,”  said  he.  And  then  he  told  - 
her  how  he  had  followed  Nell  Murray  and  herself 
across  the  bridge,  through  the  streets,  and  saw 
them  enter  the  dance-hall. 


WHAT  BECAME  OF  NELL  MURRAY.  265 


”And  it  was  you,  then,  you,  Father  Leonard, 
who  informed  Mr.  Murray?”  asked  Kate. 

" It  was  my  duty  so  to  do,  daughter.” 

"And  3'ou  spared  me.  Father?” 

"Yes,  my  child.  I resolved  not  to  speak  to 
your  parents  until  you  had  made  confession  to  me, 
as  I was  sure  you  would  do,  sooner  or  later.” 

" I thank  you,  Father,  for  sparing  them  so  much 
misery,”  said  Kate,  gratefully. 

"But,  my  child,”  continued  Father  Leonard, 
"there  is  another  matter  which  still  lies  on  your 
mind.”  He  gave  her  a penetrating  look,  and  her 
eyes  fell  beneath  it.  ”Nay,  my  child,  I have  read 
your  secret.  You,  poor  bird,  have  felt  the  basilisk 
gaze  of  that  arch-serpent  among  women,  that  de- 
stroyer of  family  peace,  the  notorious  ' Gentleman 
Mike  Lawler  ! ' ” 

" Oh,  Father  ! you  wrong  him  ! ” cried  the  girl. 
"He  is  the  victim  of  the  most  outrageous  and 

O 

unfounded  calumnies  ! He  is — ” 

"Hold,  girl!”  exclaimed  the  priest.  "It  is 
you,  silly  child,  who  have  been  deceived  by  a 
tom^ue  as  convincins^  but  as  hilse  as  that  of  the 
arch-fiend  himself.  The  man  you  love,  — yes, 
love!  — mad  girl,  is  one  of  the  vilest  and  most 
abandoned  wretches  that  walk  the  streets  of  Bos- 
ton, or  that  haunt  its  saloons,  bagnios,  and 
gambling-hells ! ” 


266  KATE  RANSOM  ENTERS  A CONVENT. 

"No,  no,  ho!”  almost  screamed  the  poor  girl. 
" I cannot  believe  it ! ” 

Leonard  started  back. 

"God  forbid  that  you,  — you  have  already  be- 
come numbered  among  that  scoundrel’s  victims  . ” 

Kate  sprang  to  her  feet  in  amazement  and  in- 
dignation. She  looked  grand  in  her  look  of 
insulted  virtue. 

"flow  dare  you.  Father  Leonard!”  she  cried, 
with  flashing  eyes. 

Leonard  could  have  taken  her  to  his  heart  in  a 
transport  of  joy  and  p:ide.  Virtue,  truth,  un- 
sullied innocence  were  depicted  in  that  glowing 
countenance  and  that  most  proudly  erected  form. 

"It  is  my  turn  to  ask  forgiveness,  my  dear,  dear 
child,  my  loved  pupil ! ” said  the  priest,  in  an 
humble  tone.  "But  you  have  met  Michael  Law- 
ler since  that  dance  and  supper?” 

"Yes,  Father.  He  has  called  at  my  house  three 
or  four  times.  I have  never  met  him  elsewhere 
since  our  first  meeting.” 

"Thank  God!”  ejaculated  Leonard,  fervently. 
" But  before  you  leave  me  this  night,  my  daughter, 
you  must  promise  me  to  see  him  no  more  ! Shun 
him  as  you  would  a leper  ! Tear  his  image  from 
your  heart,  ay  ! even  if  you  tear  your  very  heart- 
strings in  doing  it ! He  diffuses  a moral  contagion 
wherever  he  goes,  — a pestilential  atmosphere  fatal 


WHAT  BECAME  OF  NELL  :^^JRIlAY. 


267 


to  almost  every  woman’s  reputation  that  comes  in 
contact  with  him ! Swear  to  me,  by  the  Holy 
Sacrament,  that  you  will  never  see  him  more  ! ” 
It  was  some  minutes  before  Kate  Ransom  could 
reply.  A fearful  struggle  was  going  on  in  her 
bosom,  — a struggle  between  duty  and  human  love 
and  fmilty.  At  last,  in  a low,  tremulous,  heart- 
broken tone,  she  answered  : — 

"I  — I will  obey  you.  Father.  Though  it  break 
ni}^  heart,  I — I swear  never  to  look  on  Michael 
Lawlers  face  asrain.”  * 

O 

After  uttering  those  resolute  words,  the  poor 
girl  stood  still  and  pale  as  a statue,  her  arms 
crossed  upon  her  breast,  her  head  bowed  in 
anguish,  — the  very  picture  of  grief  and  despair. 
'When  Mary  Mulligan  denounced  Michael  Lawler 
in  the  dance -hall,  — charged  him  with  being  a bad 
and  evil  man, — Kate  had  not  believed  her. 
” Gentleman  Mike  ” had  whispered  in  her  ear  that 
Mary  was  a poor,  insane  girl,  and  knew  not  what 
she  was  saying.  Kate  fully  believed  him : she 
was  innocent,  unsuspecting,  and  young  in  worldly 
experience.  Thus  Kate  was  all  the  more  sus- 
ceptible to  the  arts  and  schemings  of  a persuasive 
scoundrel  like  Michael  Lawler. 

But  when  Father  Leonard  revealed  ” Gentleman 
]\Iike’s  ” true  character,  his  words  struck  home  to 
thQ  poor  girl’s  very  heart.  To  her  the  word  of 


268  KATE  RANSOM  ENTERS  A CONVENT. 


the  priest  was  as  the  word  of  God, — thus  she  had 
ever  been  taught.  She  no  more  doubted  him  than 
she  doubted  her  religion,  her  Saviour,  her  God. 
Her  heart  sank  within  her  at  the  dire  conviction. 
Her  lirst  maiden  dream  vanished.  Michael  Law- 
ler’s handsome  looks  and  winning  manner  had 
deeply  impressed  her  youthful  imagination.  It 
was  terrible  to  hear  the  fiat  pronounced,  — terrible 
to  find  her  idol  shattered  before  her  eyes. 

”Oh,”  she  cried  to  herself  in  her  agony  of  soul, 
" oh,  how  have  I been  deceived  in  this  man  ! I 
thought  him  all  that  was  good  and  noble.  How 
kindly  he  spoke  ! How  sweet  the  tones  of  his 
voice ! How  tender  his  manner ! Can  men  i>e 
such  arch-hypocrites?  Can  evil  assume  such  a 
saintly  guise?  And  he  told  me  that  he  always 
attended  church,  — never  missed  a service  ; went 
regularly  to  confession,  and  observed  all  the  fasts 
and  saints’  days.  Oh,  what  a wicked,  evil  man  ! 
Oh,  how  could  1 love  him  so  ! It  seems  as  if  I 
must  die  rather  than  give  him  up  ; and  yet  I have 
sworn  never  to  see  him  again.  No,  no ; I must, 
I loill  keep  my  oath,  though  it  break  my  heart ! ” 

These  agonized  thoughts  flew  rapidly  through 
the  young  girl’s  mind.  The  entire  world  — its 
hopes  and  its  pleasures  — seemed  slipping  away 
from  her  grasp.  Oh,  for  some  place  of  refuge, 
some  safe  sanctuary,  where  she  could  bury  hei 


WHAT  BECAME  OF  NELL  MLHRAY. 


269 


sorrow  and  grief  from  every  eye,  — some  solitary 
spot  where  she  could  find  peace  and  balm  for  her 
bruised  and  wounded  spirit ! 

"O  Father  Leonard!”  she  cried  aloud,  burst- 
ing into  a torrent  of  tears  as  she  asrain  flunof  her- 
self  upon  her  knees  at  his  feet,  and  raised  her 
clasped  hands  entreatingly  to  him,  "help  me,  I 
beseech  you ; you  are  the  only  one  I can  turn  to 
in  my  anguish  : my  parents  I cannot  telL  My 
sisters  would  jeer  at  me,  my  brothers  laugh  at  and 
torment  me,  if  I confessed  my  grief  to  them. 
There  is  no  sympathy  for  me  at  home ; you,  you 
alone  can  help  and  counsel  me.” 

Leonard  placed  his  hands  gently  upon  her  head 
and  breathed  a short  prayer  to  the  Virgin,  invok- 
ing divine  intercession  in  behalf  of  his  loved 
pupil ; then,  as  the  young  girl’s  tears  gradually 
ceased,  and  she  became  calmer,  he  spoke  wo  ids  of 
comfort  and  hope.  Drawing  her  thoughts  by 
degrees  away  from  all  mere  worldly  troubles,  he 
pointed  out  a pathwa}^  which  seemed  smiling  with 
peace,  beaming  with  a happiness  beyond  that  of 
earth  and  its  fairest  gifts. 

"Oh,  my  dear  child,”  he  said,  fervently,  "em- 
brace this  pure  life  I speak  of!  Think  of  the 
serene  joys,  the  unhiding  happiness,  of  a life 
devoted  to  the  holy  cause  of  religion.  Offer 
yourself  up  on  this  precious  altar.  Think  not  of 


270  KATE  RAMSOM  ENTERS  A CONVENT. 

the  sacrifice.  To  the  true  daughter  of  the  Church 
no  earthly  sacrifice  is  to  be  compared  with  the 
heavenly  joys  which  shall  be  yours.  Oh,  retlect, 
my  dear,  dear  child  ! Think  what  sweet  delights, 
what  holy  raptures,  constantly  await  the  bride  of 
Christ.  You,  you,  my  loved  pupil,  shall  be  with 
him  day  and  night  Oh,  ecstatic,  ravishing  joy 
to  dwell  with  him  forever ! To  look  up  to  the 
divine  One,  the  Holy  Son  of  Mary,  and  know 
that  he  is  yours  and  you  are  his  forever  and  for- 
ever ! ” 

In  this  strain  Father  Leonard  continued  to 
plead  with  the  young  girl,  exciting  all  the  enthu- 
siasm of  her  nature  until  it  flamed  up  with  an 
ardor  that  consumed  all  grosser  feelin«rs  and  senti- 

o O 

ments,  and  he  felt  the  victory  was  won. 

Ah,  how  poor  and  contemptible  seemed  the 
world  and  its  vanities  now  to  Kate  Ransom  ! Its 
hopes,  its  sorrows,  its  vain  shows,  and  hollow  hap- 
piness were  but  unsubstantial  shadows  when  com- 
pared to  the  glorious  promises  of  this  new  and 
divine  existence  which  rose  up  before  her  mental 
view. 

Yes,  so  far  Father  Leonard  had  triumphed. 
Kate  Ransom  voluntarily  consented,  before  she  left 
him  that  night,  to  enter  immediately  upon  her 
novitiate  in  the  Convent  of  the  Bleeding  Heart. 
She  was  even  impatient  to  abridge  the  period  of 


WHAT  BECAME  OF  NELL  IMTJRRAY. 


271 


time  fixed  upon  before  she  could  properly  take 
the  first  step  in  this  new  career.  As  Father 
Leonard  anticipated,  Kate’s  parents  readily 
yielded  their  consent,  and  in  less  than  a month 
Kate  Ransom,  bidding  farewell  — an  eternal  fare- 
well she  fully  believed  — to  parents,  relatives,  and 
home,  is  on  her  way  to  the  gates  of  the  Convent 
of  the  Bleeding  Heart. 

Heartrending  were  the  partings  of  mother, 
father,  brother,  and  sister,  at  that  eventful  mo- 
ment. Kisses,  tears,  prayers,  embraces,  ''good- 
bye,” "farewell,”  " God  bless  you,”  filled  the  air. 
]Many  mementos,  little  tokens  of  tenderness, 
many  a farewell  look  to  every  room,  toilet-table, 
and  looking-glass,  watered  the  eye.  Alas  ! she 
will  need  no  mirror  now  to  reflect  her  beauty; 
floors  are  bare,  and  walls  are  naked,  except  for 
images  of  worship ; no  need  of  beauty,  grace,  and 
love’s  charms  to  bless  that  predestined  connubial 
soul  of  the  attractive  young  man  she  loves  better 
than  her  own  soul. 

Kot  only  with  her  family  did  she  part,  and  that 
with  a sigh,  but  with  every  pet,  trifle,  and  toy. 
The  canary-bird  came  in  for  a tear  as  it  sung  its 
farewell  note ; the  pet  pussy.  Flossy,  with  a red 
string  around  her  neck,  seemed  to  mew  a long, 
gentle  farewell ; and  the  faithful  dog.  Toddy, 
followed  her  to  the  gate,  wagging  his  tail,  looking 


272  KATE  RANSOM  ENTERS  A CONVENT. 

wistfully,  as  if  to  catch  the  last  tender  endearment 
from  her  parting  hands. 

Toddy  seemed  willing  and  even  anxious  to 
accompimy  her ; he  pranced  about,  reared  and 
plunged,  lay  down  and  rolled  over,  and  sportively 
uttered  a kind  '’'bow  woio^  as  if  to  say,  I am  go- 
ing  with  you,  wherever  that  may  be.” 

As  she  entered  the  carriage  that  was  to  bear  her 
away  from  all  that  was  dear  to  her  on  earth,  she 
took  a farewell  look  of  the  garden,  the  house,  the 
flowers,  then  with  a sigh  murmured  to  herself, 
"Yes,  yes;  it  is  all  right,  it  is  all  right.  Yes, 
yes,”  with  a pause  ; " yes,  for  Father  Leonard  says 
so”;  and  she  cried  aloud,  and  saturated  her  hand- 
kerchief with  tears.  "Yes,  yes,”  she  continued, 
" it  is  all  right ; yet — yet  this  is  a beautiful  world  to 
look  at,  all  filled  with  spring  flowers,  brooks,  rivu- 
lets, hopes,  promises,  bird  songs,  happy  homes, 
and  friends  we  love, —it  is  all  right  to  be  ban- 
ished, forever  banished,  from  all  I hold  dear;  yet 
— yet,  as  God  is  my  witness,  I have  committed 
no  crime. Again  she  sighed  audibly  and  wept 
aloud.  "All  I have  done  is  to  dance  with  Mike 
Lawler.” 

Meanwhile  Father  Leonard  had  taken  effectual 
steps  to  prevent  the  elopement  of  Frank  Barry 
and  Nell  Murray,  without  betraying  his  own 
agency  in  the  act.  Before  the  time  appointed,  Mr. 


WHAT  BECAME  OF  NELL  IVIURRAY.  273 


and  Mrs.  Murray  held  an  interview  with  their 
daughter.  A stormy,  terrilde  scene  ensinM ; 
cries  and  lamentations  echoed  throughout  the 
house.  What  passed  between  parents  and  child 
was  never  divulged,  but  for  many  weeks  that 
housi'hold  was  plunged  in  a grief  more  profound 
than  if  their  only  child  had  been  borne  to  her 
grave.  Mr.  Murray  was  a severe  and  resolute 
man,  as  has  been  already  indicated.  Me  had  in- 
tended to  send  Nell  to  a convent ; but  after  that 
interview,  after  listening  to  the  confession  she 
was  forced  to  make,  he  altered  his  intention. 
Frank  Barry  had  suddenly  disappeared  ; so  a father’s 
vengeance  could  not  overtake  him, — at  present 
at  least.  Nell,  too,  was  taken  away  the  follow- 
ing day,  her  parents  giving  out  that  she  had 
gone  to  visit  a distant  relative  in  another  State. 
Society  generally  accepted  this  statement  without 
question.  But  as  time  went  by,  and  as  many 
months  passed  and  no  news  from  the  young  girl 
was  received  by  relatives  or  friends,  people  began 
to  wonder  what  had  become  of  her,  and  much 
inquiry  was  made  of  her  parents,  which  they 
found  considerable  embarrassment  in  answerinsr. 

The  truth  was  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Murray,  to 
save  their  name  from  unmerited  disgrace,  and  also 
to  spare  as  well  as  punish  their  daughter,  had 
secretly  placed  the  unfortunate  Nell  in  the  House 
18 


274  KATE  RANSOM  ENTERS  A CONVENT. 

of  the  Magdalenes,  a celebrated  institution  situated 
not  a thousand  miles  from  Boston. 

In  this  i^ofe  retreat,  where  doors  are  said  to  be 
barred  to  all  but  the  elect  or  the  initiated,  and  with 
whose  secrets  and  mysteries  even  the  tongue  of 
Eumor  rarely  ventures  to  meddle,  — in  this  House 
of  the  Magdalenes,  we  say,  poor  Nell  Murray  was 
left  to  sigh  and  mourn  over  her  shattered  hopes 
while  repenting  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  for  the 
folly  and  the  sin  which  a long  course  of  systematic 
deception  had  led  her  to  adopt. 

Ah,  Father  Leonard,  in  your  secret  meditations, 
in  your  moments  of  mental  doubt  and  torturing 
self-distrust,  did  the  thought  never  occur  to  you 
that  poor  Nell  Murray’s  fall  was  the  logical  fruit 
of  the  deceptive  teachings  of  the  Church,  —'that 
Church  which,  through  its  doctrines,  teaches  that 
deceptions,  or  even  lies,  practised  in  a so-called 
righteous  cause,  may  be  condoned  and  even 
approved  ? 

In  a future  chapter  we  may  visit  the  House  of 
the  Magdalenes  and  see  how  it  has  fared  with 
Nell  Murray. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


FATHER  LEONARD  AND  MIKE  LAWLER  MEET.  — MIKE  IS 

TOLD  THE  WORST. “ I ’lL  FIND  HER,  DEAD  OR 

ALIVE.” 

” Gentleman  Mike  ” Lawler  was  not,  like  his 
father,  an  enthusiastic  member  of  the  church.  In 
fact,  he  never  attended  church,  never  went  to  con- 
fession, in  spite  of  what  he  had  told  Kate  Ransom 
to  the  contrary.  Mike  knew  too  much  about  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church,  too  much  about  her  priest- 
hood, to  have  any  faith  left  in  her  "holiness.”  He 
was  disgusted  with  the  very  name  of  religion,  as 
religion  was  presented  from  a Catholic  stand- 
point. 

He  had  seen  through  all  the  shams  and  hypoc- 
risy of  his  father’s  religious  pretensions  ; had  seen 
him  make  a tool  of  the  Church  for  personal  and 
political  aims.  Again  and  again  had  he  beheld 
leading  priests  drinking  and  carousing  at  his 
father’s  table,  and  at  last  borne  away  dead  drunk 
to  bed  by  Lawler’s  servants.  At  a certain  great 
horse-race  he  had  seen  his  father  holding  the 
stakes  and  deciding  the  bets ; had  seen  him  win 
and  lose  hundreds  of  dollars  by  card-playing  at 


276  FATHER  LEONARD  AND  MIKE  LAWLER  MEET. 

the  Parker  House.  And  at  last,  when  that  father 
suddenly  died,  at  the  impressive  funeral  obsequies, 
amid  solemn  requiems,  the  laudations  of  priests, 
the  tears  and  pra3mrs  of  the  assembled  multitude, 
and  in  the  face  of  the  orphans  and  widows  his 
liquor  business  had  made,  he  had  seen  that  father 
borne  to  his  grave,  and  been  assured  that  his  soul, 
after  a short  stay  in  purgatory,  would  be  sent 
straight  up  to  glory. 

Oh  ! knowing  that  father’s  failings  and  vices, 
what  mockery  this  all  seemed  to  the  son  ! 

A victim  of  his  surroundings,  a slave  of  circum- 
stances, Michael  Lawler  had  sounded  the  very 
depths  of  vice.  Pie  had  seen  crime  sheltered  and 
fostered  under  the  wing  of  the  Church,  even  its 
most  sacred  symbols  prostituted  to  the  basest  pur- 
poses. Once  a celebrated  demUrnondaine ^ beau- 
tiful and  bewitching  as  a dream  of  Oriental  hourii, 
had  drawn  him  amid  her  train  of  admirers.  He 
was  infatuated  with  this  siren ; but  at  last  when 
he  had  outstripped  every  rival  and  victory  lay 
within  his  grasp,  he  had  turned  away  in  loathing 
and  disgust.  Why?  Because  before  his  eyes  she 
had  removed  the  scapula  from  her  bosom,  and 
shown  him  that  even  a profession  such  as  hers 
claimed  the  protection  and  indulgence  of  the  holy 
and  immaculate  Church.  Profligate  though  he 
was,  some  spark  of  decency  and  consistency  re- 


MIKE  IS  TOLD  THE  WORST. 


277 


nijiined  in  his  bosom.  Mike  Lawler  never  spoke 
to  that  woman  again  in  his  life. 

Among  other  accomplishments,  " Gentleman 
Mike  ” was  famous  as  an  amateur  pugilist.  One 
Sunda}^  evening  he  witnessed  a sparring  exhibition 
at  So-uth  Boston,  — ^friendly  contest,  so  called, 
in  which  two  young  Irish  bullies,  Bernard  Carr 
and  John  Shea,  pummelled  away  at  each  other  to 
determine  which  was  "the  better  man.”  Carr 
gave  up  at  last,  but  the  spectators  were  not  satis- 
fied. They  had  not  had  enough,  if  Carr  had  ! 
Carr,  therefore,  was  persuaded  to  stand  up  for 
another  round.  After  a few  blows,  the  youth  fell 
to  the  floor,  striking  his  head.  AYithin  twenty- 
four  hours  Bernard  Carr  was  a dead  man  ! This 
on  Sunday  night  in  Puritan  Boston  ! 

Even  this  spectacle  did  not  sicken  " Gentleman 
i\Iike”  of  pugilism.  He  joined  the  celebrated 
Crib  Club,  an  association  devoted  to  athletic 
sports,  and  chiefly  composed  of  well-known  Cath- 
olics, Beacon  Hill  snobs,  society  and  literary  men, 
meeting  on  common  ground  of  mutual  admiration 
for  brutal  and  debasing  sports.  The  bishop’s  right- 
hand  man,  editor  of  his  chief  organ.  The  Pilot, 
is  president  of  this  club.  The  following,  taken 
from  the  Boston  Daily  Glohe^  explains  some  of 
the  objects  of  this  club  : — 


278  FATHER  LEONARD  AND  MIKE  LAWLER  MEET. 


“ To  say  that  the  members  of  the  Crib  Club  are  not  of 
the  elite  of  our  citizens  would  be  false,  for  among  the 
members  who  pay  monthly  dues  are  many  well-known 
merchants,  brokers  and  the  like,  who,  when  the  night 
comes  for  a good  time,  and  no  member  of  the  press  ad- 
mitted, ‘ chip  ’ in  their  twenty-five  cents  apiece  and  for 
a yellow  ticket,  which  says  ‘ Good  for  one.’ 

“ Last  night  the  finest  exhibition  ever  seen  at  the  rooms 
of  the  cluh  was  opened  by  Jack  Conboy  of  Lawrence  and 
Billy  Tapley  of  Providence,  Conboy  being  seconded  by 
Prof.  James  J.  Bagley  and  Tapley  by  Dan  Gill.  They 
indulged  in  four  very  clever  rounds  for  a purse  of  $150, 
the  referee  awarding  the  same  to  Conboy. 

“ This  was  followed  by  a friendly  set-to  of  three  rounds 
between  Patsey  Sheppard  and  Tim  McCarthy,  in  which 
light  tips  and  much  science  were  displayed. 

“ The  wind-up  of  the  evening’s  entertainment  was  be- 
tween J.  F.  Carroll  of  Holyoke,  Mass.,  and  Hilly  Frazier 
of  Boston,  six  rounds,  for  a purse  of  .$100,  Marquis  of 
Queeusberry  rules  to  govern  the  same,  which  means  three 
minutes  to  each  round,  with  one  minute  rest.  The  result 
was  as  follows:  — 

“First  round  — Little  sparring,  both  men  feeling  con- 
fident and  trying  to  find  out  the  other’s  counters. 

“ Second  round  — Both  Frazier  and  Carroll  were  cheered. 
Frazier  led  off,  but  was  caught  by  an  upper  cut  on  the 
nose  by  Carroll,  after  which  Frazier  countered  on  Car- 
roll's  face  with  a left;  then  both  closed  and  time  was 
called. 

“ Third  round  — Both  stepped  to  the  scratch  full  of  en- 
ergy. Carroll,  after  some  sparring,  led  with  a left,  followed 
by  a right,  after  which  there  were  some  short  blows,  when 
Frazier  knocked  Carroll  on  his  knees  with  a right-hander 
and  again  struck  him  when  down.  Prof.  Bagley,  Car- 


MIKE  IS  TOLD  THE  WORST. 


279 


roll’s  second,  at  once  claimed  a foul,  which  was  not  al- 
h'wed  by  the  referee. 

“ Fourth  round  — Not  much  fighting. 

“ Fifth  round — Both  men  came  to  the  scratch  showing 
ranch  vim,  with  each  confident  of  success.  Carroll  de- 
livered his  opponent  three  blows  with  his  left,  each  in 
succession,  which  awoke  Frazier  to  the  use  of  his  right 
and  left,  when  Carroll  fought  him  against  the  ropes. 

“ Sixth  round  — Both  men  shook  hands  and  each  was 
confident  of  knocking  his  adversary  out.  They  were, 
however,  pretty  well  used  up,  and  when  the  three  min- 
uses were  up,  time  was  called  by  the  referee  and  $50 
banded  to  each  man.” 

In  his  unregenerate  state  such  sports  and  excite- 
ments, low  pleasures  and  degrading  pastimes, 
«^eemed  the  chief  end  of  existence  to  Michael 
Lawler.  What  was  the  use  of  striving  for  a 
higher  life,  nobler  ends,  asserting  his  manhood, 
living  for  others,  subduing  passion  and  appetite? 
He  had  all  that  life  could  offer,  — money  without 
stint,  friends  by  hundreds,  youth,  good  looks,  and 
high  health,  in  spite  of  fast  living. 

His  father  had  vainly  sought  to  induce  him  to 
embrace  a political  career.  With  money  and  influ- 
ence at  command,  he  might  win  almost  any  polit- 
ical stake.  But  Mike  had  no  taste  that  way,  felt 
no  vocation.  Besides,  he  saw  politics  were  mixed 
up  too  much  with  the  Church  for  his  taste.  Poli- 
tics and  piety  seemed  running  in  the  same  groove. 
He  saw  all  leading  Democratic  politicians  closely 


280  FATITER  LEONARD  AND  MD^E  LAWLER  MEET. 


identified  with  the  Church  Being  inside  "the 
ring,”  he  saw  that  when  the  Church  commanded 
politicians  obeyed. 

Such  the  teachings  of  his  life ; such  the  exam- 
ples ever  before  his  gaze ; such,  in  young  Michael 
Lawler’s  case,  the  fruits  of  Catholic  doctrines  : no 
wonder  he  felt  no  respect  for  his  church,  no  honor 
for  a father’s  m.^mory,  no  regard  even  for  a 
mother’s  prayer  no  wonder  he  had  become  a 
gambler,  libertine,  and  debauchee. 

But  a change  was  to  come  in  Michael  Lawder’s 
heart ; a change  destined  to  overturn  all  his  theo- 
ries and  habits  of  life.  His  first  and  subsequent 
meetings  with  Kate  Ransom  had  awakened  a new 
and  absorbing  passion.  His  peculiar  experience 
among  women  had  lessened  his  respect  for  the 
sex.  Judging  the  whole  by  a part,  he  fancied 
them  all  vain,  sordid,  frail.  Such  virtue  as  he  had 
met  with  in  Kate  was  like  a revelation,  like  turn- 
ing the  pages  of  an  unread  and  unknown  book. 
Purity,  modesty,  uncompromising  virtue,  seemed 
to  enwrap  her  as  in  a garment  of  dazzling  bright- 
ness. Like  Milton’s  Satan,  when  standing  in  the 
archangel’s  presence,  he  felt 

“ How  awful  goodness  is. 

And  virtue  in  her  shape,  how  lovely  1 ” 

He  bowed  before  this  triumphant  virtue,  which 


MIKE  IS  TOLD  THE  WORST. 


281 


he  could  not  overcome  with  all  his  arts,  which 
stood  a Gibraltar  of  firmness  against  his  every 
assault,  — bowed  before  it  like  a devotee  at  the 
Virgin’s  shrine. 

Wonder,  admiration,  awe  took  possession  of  his 
bosom  when  in  the  presence  of  this  young  girl. 
A new  and  delicious  sensation  stole  over  him.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  experienced  the  elevat- 
ing and  ennobling  influence  of  a pure  and  holy 
love. 

The  world’s  history  is  filled  with  the  glowing 
triumphs  of  women’s  influence  over  men.  For 
woman’s  smile  renowned  battles  have  been  fought, 
kings  have  resigned  their  sceptres,  nations  been 
extinguished,  and  great  empires  bound  in  chains. 

But  in  Michael  Lawler’s  case  love  achieved  a 
greater  triumph  still.  It  changed  an  obdurate 
human  heart,  a heart  filled  with  all  vileness,  - — 
brutal,  vicious,  wicked  almost  beyond  redemption. 

Life  now  presented  another  aspect  to  Michael 
Lawler.  He  loathed  the  past  with  an  utter  loath- 
ing. Pleasures  palled  upon  him.  He  forsook  his 
friends  and  companions.  Kate  Ransom  was  now 
the  only  object  that  made  life  worth  living  for. 
To  win  her  he  would  have  walked  over  burning 
ploughshares.  One  day,  under  the  impulse  of  his 
devouring  passion,  which  gave  him  no  peace  unless 
he  was  in  her  presence,  he  flew  to  her  house.  His 


282  FATHER  LEONARD  AND  MIKE  LAWLER  MEET. 


face  fell,  all  the  joy  fled  from  his  bosom  as  the 
servant  told  him  that  Kate  had  gone  away. 

"Gone  away!”  he  exclaimed,  in  his  bitter  dis- 
appointment. " But  she  promised  to  be  at  home 
this  afternoon.  She  knew  I intended  to  call. 
AVhere  has  she  gone?  Tell  me  at  once,  for  I must 
see  her  to-day.” 

Father  Leonard,  who  was  just  taking  his  leave 
of  Mrs.  Kansom,  at  that  moment  came  to  the  door 
and  perceived  young  Lawler.  His  cheeks  flushed, 
but  there  was  a gleam  of  triumph  in  his  eye  as, 
on  hearing  Mike’s  words,  he  answered  before  the 
domestic  could  speak  : — 

" You  will  hardl}^  be  able  to  see  Miss  Kansom 
to-day,  Mr.  Lawler.  If  you  will  step  in  a mo- 
ment I will  give  you  a message  which  she  in- 
trusted me  to  deliver  to  you.” 

" Gentleman  Mike  ” wonderingly  followed  the 
priest  into  the  reception-room,  obedient  to  this 
invitation ; there  was  something  in  Leonard’s 
manner  that  filled  him  with  apprehension. 

" Speak,  sir,”  he  said,  impatiently.  " Give  me 
this  message  at  once  I ” 

" It  was  but  a word,  sir,”  said  the  priest,  " and 
that  word  was  ' Farewell  ’ ! ” 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  reverend  sir,”  said 
the  young  man ; but  his  heart  almost  stood  still  at 
the  word. 


MIKE  IS  TOLD  THE  WORST. 


283 


'' I will  explain,”  sjiid  Leonard  ; and,  fixing  his 
cold,  stern  eye  on  the  other,  he  proceeded,  ” know- 
ing, at  last,  your  character,  Michael  Lawler, 
knowing  that  you  are  no  fit  acquaintance  for  a 
pure  and  virtuous  maiden,  Kate  Kansoin  has 
authorized  me  to  tell  you  that  she  can  never  see 
you  again  ! ” 

Mike’s  face  paled  at  these  portentous  words. 
He  took  a step  toward  the  priest. 

Never  see  me  again?  ” he  repeated.  " Oh,  no, 
you  cannot  mean  that,  sir ! She  could  not  be  so 
cruel.  Why,  sir,  she  is  the  dearest,  sweetest, 
gentlest,  kindest-hearted  creature  I ever  knew  in 
my  life.  She  would  not  give  pain  to  a fly,  let 
alone  a human  being.  But  if  she  had  said  that, 
she  would  be  as  cruel  as  the  grave  ; for  oh,  rever- 
end Father,  never  to  see  Kate  Ransom  again 
would  surely  break  my  heart ! ” 

There  was  actually  a suspicion  of  tears  in 
" Gentleman  Mike’s  ” fine  eyes  as  he  said  these 
words  in  a tone  that  was  almost  piteous.  Leonard, 
however,  believed  that  this  exhibition  of  feelins: 
was  only  a cunning  piece  of  acting,  and  he  replied 
sarcastically  : — 

" Then  your  heart  must  have  grown  remarkably 
tender  all  at  once,  Mr.  Lawler.  If  report  does 
not  belie  you,  you  have  found  a pastime  in  break- 
ing hearts,  and  your  own  has  been  impervious  to 


284  FATHER  LEONARD  AND  MIKE  LAAVLER  MEET. 


appeals  and  supplications  that  one  would  think 
might  have  moved  a heart  of  adamant.” 

The  young  man  hung  his  head  in  very  shame  at 
this  reproach. 

"It  is  your  office  to  utter  words  of  reproof  and 
warning,  sir,”  he  said,  mildly,  even  humbly. 
''I  do  not  blame  you,  although  I am  not  used  to 
submit  to  such,  even  from  a priest.  But  believe 
me,  sir,  you  wrong  me  in  this  instance.  The  devil 
is  not  so  black  as  he  is  painted,  you  know,  if  you 
will  pardon  my  using  the  homely  proverb.  I ac- 
knowledge that  1 have  been  a bad  man ; that  sin 
has  ever  found  me  a willing  devotee  ; that  I am 
not  fit  to  breathe  the  same  atmosphere  with  a saint 
of  purity  like  Kate  Hansom.  But,  sir,  I lovelier 
with  as  pure  and  upright  a sentiment  as  man  ever 
felt  for  woman.  For  her  dear  sake,  I am  striving: 
daily  for  victory  over  my  grosser  nature  ; for  her 
sake,  I have  sworn  never  to  touch  a drop  of  liquor 
to  the  end  of  my  life ; for  her  sake,  I have  re- 
nounced habits  that  began  almost  with  my  very 
birth.  If  there  is  any  redemption  for  a wretch 
like  me,  if  there  is  any  truth  in  the  miracles  that 
men  of  your  cloth  daily  preach  as  being  wrought 
in  the  human  heart,  it  is  Kate  Ransom’s  love  that 
will  produce  that  change  in  me.” 

Hypocrisy  could  never  counterfeit  sincerity  so 
perfectly  as  this.  Voice,  manner,  expression, 


MIKE  IS  TOLD  THE  WOKST. 


285 


convinced  Father  Leonard  that  the  young  man 
spoke  from  his  very  heart ; but  the  confession 
caused  him  a secret  pang,  for  it  was  not  pleasant 
to  remember  that  Kate  Ransom  loved  this  prodigal 
in  return,  and  that  he  himself  had  persuaded  her 
to  crush  out  every  spark  of  that  atfection  and  bury 
her  young  life,  with  all  its  bright  promises  and 
glorious  possibilities,  in  the  tomblike  seclusion  of 
a cloister.  He  pondered  for  a moment  before  he 
spoke,  and  then,  actuated  by  an  entirely  new 
thought,  he  said,  — 

"But  it  is  not  through  a sinful,  human  love  that 
such  miracles  are  accomplished,  young  man. 
There  is  no  dependence  to  be  placed  on  an  impulse 
which  is  born  merely  to  attain  an  earthly  object. 
To  your  knees,  young  man  ! ” he  cried,  sternly. 

" Return  to  the  bosom  of  the  Church,  whose  pre- 
cepts you  have  so  long  defied,  whose  mandates 
you  have  contemned,  and  whose  holy  name  you 
have  scandalized  by  your  conduct.  Seek  there 
for  grace,  obtain  absolution  for  the  past  by  fast 
and  penance  ; and  as  for  the  future  — ” 

" The  future ! ” interposed  Michael  Lawler, 
eagerly.  "Do  you,  reverend  sir,  — you,  who  are 
her  friend,  her  pastor,  you  who  know  all  her  ^ 
heart,  and  to  whom  she  looks  up  with  a reverence 
and  love  almost  as  to  her  God,  — do  you  bid  me 
hope  for  the  future  ? Oh,  sir,  she  has  the  power 


286  FATHER  LEONARD  AND  MIKE  LAWLER  MEET. 


to  do  anything  with  me  ! Yes,  if  she  bids  me  do 
so,  if  she  tells  me  that  by  becoming  as  devout  1 
Catholic  as  she  is  herself,  that  in  time  she  will 
listen  to  my  suit,  that  she  will  love  me  with  one 
tithe  the  love  I have  for  her,  why  — ” 

" You  deceive  yourself,  young  man,”  interrupted 
Leonard  in  his  turn.  " The  future  I spoke  of  can 
hold  forth  no  such  promise  to  you.  Abide  by  the 
change  in  your  life  and  conduct  you  speak  of ; 
let  the  memory  of  this  pure  affection,  which.^ 
like  an  oasis  in  the  desert  of  your  wasted 
career,  has  bloomed  and  borne  forth  such  good 
and  wholesome  fruit,  still  redeem  and  sanctify 
your  life ; but  think  no  more  of  Kate  Ransom : 
that  sweet  girl  is  as  hir  removed  from  you  as 
are  the  stars.  A barrier  as  impassible  as  death 
has  been  raised  between  you.  Kate  Ransom 
is  practically  no  longer  of  this  world.  She 
is  done  with  earthly  hopes.  Ko  mortal  love  can 
ever  stand  between  her  and  the  higher  hope,  on 
which  her  soul  is  permanently  fixed.  She  has 
chosen  her  husband,  has  claimed  the  eternal  pro- 
tection of  One  above  us  all,  and  is  now  preparing 
to  enter  upon  joys  which  no  son  of  woman  can 
even  dimly  appreciate,  — the  sweet,  ineffable  joj^s 
which  pertain  to  the  chosen  bride  of  heaven.” 
Gradually,  slowly  the  priest’s  meaning  was 
made  apparent  to  his  startled  hearer. 


MIKE  IS  TOLD  THE  WORST. 


287 


''  Almighty  God  ! ” he  exclaimed.  ” She  has 
entered  a convent ! She  has  fled  from  me ! 
AYretch  ! wretch  that  I am,  my  darling,  my  loved 
one  has  been  driven  to  this  resort  to  escape 
from  the  pollution  of  my  love.  Is  that  what  you 
mean?  Speak,  I implore  you  ! ” 

Leonard  felt  the  young  man’s  agony,  perhaps 
])itied  him ; but  he  bowed  his  head  affirmatively. 
Lawler  suddenly  sprang  upon  him,  and,  for- 
getting his  sacred  calling,  seized  him  by  either 
shoulder. 

" Ah ! I understand  it  all  now ! You  have 
been  at  the  bottom  of  this.  It  is  you  who  have 
poisoned  my  dear  girl’s  mind  against  me ; you 
who  have  persuaded  her  that  I am  a heartless  vil- 
lain, seeking  her  destruction ; then  it  is  you  who 
shall  undo  this  cruel  wrong ; you  who  shc^ll  go  to 
her,  tell  her  that  I am  a changed  man  ; that  her 
love  has  ennobled  and  redeemed  me,  and  restore 
her  once  more  to  the  world  and  to  me.” 

"You  forget  yourself,  young  man,”  said  Leon- 
ard, calml}^  as  he  shook  ofl*  Lawler’s  grasp  and 
drew  himself  up  with  severe  dignity.  " You  will 
plead  in  vain  to  me.  I repeat  that  you  will  never 
see,  or  at  least  never  exchange  a word  again  with 
Kate  Ransom  as  long  as  you  lire.  Her  destiny  is 
fixed  beyond  recall.” 

Michael  Lawler  saw  the  resolute  look  in  Leon- 


288  FATHER  LEONARD  AND  MIKE  LAWLER  MEET. 


ard’s  face,  and  one  no  less  resolute  came  into  his 
own. 

" So  he  it,”  he  said,  hoarsely.  " Kate  Ransom 
loves  me,  — that  I know  from  her  own  li})s.”  Leon- 
ard gave  an  involuntary  start  at  this.  " She  can- 
not assume  the  black  veil  for  one  or  two  years  at 
least.  I will  defeat  your  inhuman  scheme  to 
separate  us.  Throughout  the  world  I ’ll  search  for 
her,  and  I swear  here,  by  all  my  hopes  of  earth 
and  heaven,  not  to  rest  until  I know  where  she  is. 
Yes,  I ‘11  find  her,  dead  or  alive  !” 

And,  without  another  word,  without  another 
look  at  the  startled  priest,  the  young  man  rushed 
from  the  room  and  out  of  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


KATE  ENTERS  THE  CONVENT. LIFE  AT  THE  BLEEDING 

HEART.  — FATHER  FRANCIS  AND  MOTHER  IGNATIA. 

As  Kate  Ransom’s  carriage  approached  the  con- 
vent, the  large  folding  gates  were  flung  open,  dis- 
closing trim  gardens  blooming  with  flowers,  pleas- 
ant groves  of  trees,  with  here  and  there  groups 
of  gray-clad  sisters  gathered  beneath.  The  scene 
was  calculated  to  please  and  soothe  a nature  like 
Kate’s.  How  peaceful,  how  sweet,  seemed  such 
a life  to  the  weary-hearted  girl ! Here  surely  no 
strife  nor  bickerings  could  interrupt  the  placid 
stream  of  existence ; no  envy,  rivalries,  or  jeal- 
ousies disturb  the  holy  Sabbath  calm.  And  yet 
the  little  world  enclosed  within  those  high  walls 
was  but  the  great  world  in  miniature,  and  reflected 
its  passions,  its  ambitions,  and,  sad  to  say,  even 
its  crimes,  as  Kate  was  destined  to  find  out  in 
course  of  time. 

Could  some  good  spirit  have  told  her,  before  the 
great  gates  clanked  behind  her,  the  half  of  what 
was  in  store  for  her  — the  suflerings,  miseries, 
persecutions  — she  would  have  fled  in  terror  and 
dismay ; but  such  good  fortune  was  not  to  be  hers. 

19 


290 


KATE  ENTERS  THE  CONVENT. 


Mother  Ignati<a,  the  Lady  Superior  of  the  Bleed- 
ing Heart,  met  Kate  at  the  door  and  cordially 
greeted  her ; then  followed  introductions  to  the 
lay  sisters,  all  of  whom  vied  with  each  other  in 
making  the  new-comer  at  home.  The  various  duties 
of  her  new  life  were  ex[)lained  to  her,  and  these 
at  first  consisted  principall}^  of  devotions.  There 
were  matins  at  five  o'clock,  vespers  at  nine,  the 
interval  being  filled  in  with  bead  counting,  saying 
the  rosary,  — a prayer  to  each  bead,  a hundred 
prayers  and  more  each  day,  — and  singing,  chant- 
ing, fancy  work  and  embroidery  for  sale,  the  sales 
being  made  chiefly  to  Protestants  who  were  the 
best  patrons  of  the  various  charity  enterprises 
devised  by  the  sisterhood  of  the  Bleeding  Heart. 
Quite  an  income  was  also  derived  from  the  nuik- 
ing  of  scapulars,  charms,  and  sacerdotal  vest- 
ments. 

Time  has  flown  on,  many  weeks  have  elapsed, 
and  Kate  Ransom’s  experiences  of  convent  life 
have  not  been  quite  what  she  had  anticipated. 

In  the  first  stages  of  her  infatuation,  it  seemed 
indeed  a paradise  on  earth.  Father  Leonard  had 
told  her  that  the  convent  was  " the  vestibule  of 
Heaven,”  and  she  believed  it.  How  could  she 
doubt  what  he  asserted?  Was  not  her  confessor’s 
voice  as  the  voice  of  God  ? 

Besides,  she  was  in  a state  of  mind  to  accept 


LIFE  AT  THE  BLEEDING  HEART. 


291 


with  gratitude  aii}^  refuge  from  her  sorrow.  The 
world  and  its  pleasures  had  lost  all  their  savor 
since  she  knew  the  unworthiness  of  the  man  she 
loved. 

How  many  in  a similar  mental  strait  have  sought 
the  convent,  doomed  themselves  to  the  horrors  of 
a living  death,  and  realized  when  too  late,  when 
escape  was  hopeless,  that  they  have  hugged  to 
their  bosoms  a delusion  and  a snare  ! 

The  Bleeding  Heart ! Ah,  how  signific^ant  the 
name  ! How  appropriate  for  a convent ! Hidden 
in  its  cells  and  cloisters,  how  many  human  hearts 
are  destined  to  bleed  until  the  current  of  life  is 
spent,  and  death  brings  at  last  a joyful  release  ! 

Convents  are  an  anomaly  in  a free  country. 
Too  apt  to  be  places  of  oppression  ; feudal  for- 
tresses; baronial  castles.  Now  baronial  castles 
are  contrary  to  American  ideas.  They  are  foreign 
establishments,  padlocked  institutions  that  allow 
no  intrusion,  no  investigation,  not  even  by  the  law. 
'When  the  portcullis  falls  there  is  no  admittance, 
no  exit.  A spiritual  despot  holds  absolute  sway 
within  the  walls,  backed  by  the  power  of  a mighty 
church,  — a church  jealous  of  interference  wdth  its 
assumed  rights.  The  convent  system  is  one  of 
barred  gates  and  sworn  secreey.  Deluded  victims 
may  cry  out  for  release,  and  cry  in  vain.  The 
dungeon  for  refractory  ones  echoes  back  the  wails 


292 


KATE  ENTERS  TTIE  CONVENT. 


and  sighs,  smothers  all  prayers  and  groans.  No 
syrnpatbetic  eye  to  see,  no  human  heart  to  feel,  no 
strong  hand  to  uid)olt  the  prison  doors  and  set  the 
captives  free  ! Such  a system  invites  immorality, 
affords  opportunity  for  hiding  nameless  crimes. 
Even  secret  murders  may  be  done  within  convent 
walls  and  nobody  be  any  the  wiser!  And  the 
Church  snaps  its  fingers  at  the  State  and  triumph- 
antly asks,  ” What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  ” 
If  Governor  Benjamin  F.  Busier  could  turn  the 
convent  system  inside  out,  as  it  exists  to-day  in 
Massachusetts,  and  in  the  whole  United  States,  it 
would  be  a greater  feather  in  his  cap  than  inves- 
tigating Tewksbury  Almshouses  or  purifying  cor- 
rupt New  Orleans  I 

Thus  far,  then,  only  the  sunny  side  of  convent 
life  had  been  presented  to  Kate  Kansom’s  view.  The 
ever-recurring  religious. exercises,  the  multiplied 
formulas  of  devotion,  were  as  balm  to  her  stricken 
spirit.  They  drowned  all  regrets,  all  personal 
sorrows ; "ave  her  no  time  for  reflection  on  seen- 
lar  aflairs.  Looking  upon  herself  as  the  destined 
bride  of  the  King  of  heaven  and  earth,  her  mind 
could  hold  no  other  idea.  She  was  completely 
under  the  spell  of  fanaticism.  The  delusions  of 
Romish  doctrines  never  found  a more  receptive 
subject.  If  the  black  veil  could  have  been  oflered 
to  her  at  this  time,  the  infatuated  girl  would  have 


LIFE  AT  THE  BLEEDING  HEART. 


293 


assumed  it  with  joyiul  eagerness.  Fortunately 
this  could  not  be  done  at  present. 

Her  docility  and  enthusiasm  soon  made  her  a 
favorite  with  the  inmates  of  "The  Bleeding  Heart.” 
Mother  Ignat ia,  the  Lady  Superior,  a cold  and 
austere  ascetic,  was  benignity  itself  to  Kate. 
Her  companions  seemed  like  so  many  dear  sisters 
in  their  kind  ministrations.  Father  Francis,  a 
young  Irish  priest,  who  was  the  superior’s  con- 
fessor, manifested  great  interest  in  the  youthful 
novice.  His  tender  solicitude  for  her  spiritual 
welfare  deeply  impressed  the  young  girl ; but  at 
length  she  began  to  ask  herself  why  Father  F rancis 
devoted . so  much  time  to  convei  sing  with  her ; 
why  prolonging  her  confession  to  such  an  inter- 
minable length,  to  the  neglect,  she  was  sure,  of 
other  duties?  These  q^e^tions  l)egan  to  be  asked 
by  others,  too,  besides  Kate  herself. 

Erelong  she  fancied  her  associates  grew  some- 
what  cold  and  distant  toward  her.  Mother  Igna- 
tia’s  manner  also  seemed  to  change.  She  spoke 
less  kindly,  and  imposed  penances  for  trifling 
omissions  that  had  been  passed  over  with  indul- 
gence before.  What  had  she  done  to  deserve 
this  altered  treatment?  How  had  she  otFended  ? 

But  Father  Francis  still  continued  kind,  kinder 
than  ever,  Kate  thought. 

One  day,  while  closeted  alone  in  confession 


294 


KATE  ENTERS  THE  CONVENT. 


with  the  priest,  he  laid  his  hands  upon  her  bowed 
head  in  l)lessing  her,  as  Father  Leonard  was  wont 
to  do ; but  his  hands  remained,  lingered  until  at 
last  the  touch  became  almost  a caress. 

Kate’s  modesty  took  the  alarm.  She  made  an 
effort  to  rise  to  her  feet,  but  the  priest  gently 
restrained  her. 

"Nay,  my  daughter,”  he  said;  "I  have  some- 
thing more  yet  to  say  to  you.” 

Kate  felt  a vague  uneasiness,  an  indefinable 
sense  of  alarm. 

"I  fear,  my  dear  child,”  continued  Father 
Francis,  in  a paternal  tone,  " that  you  are  of  late 
permitting  some  vain  worldly  longings  to  disquiet 
your  mind  Mother  Ignatia  also  shares  this  fear. 
She  tells  me,  indeed,  that  she  has  observed  with 
pain  a very  marked  change  in  your  recent  conduct. 
You  are  at  times  absent-minded,  even  in  the  midst 
of  devotion.  You  have  been  heard  to  sigh  fre- 
quently, and  an  appearance  of  despondency  seems 
occasionally  to  take  the  place  of  that  spiritual 
elation  wdiich  formerly  characterized  your  de- 
meanor.” 

"Indeed,  Father,  I am  not  sensible  of  any  such 
change,”  timidly  answered  Kate,  as  the  priest 
paused. 

" Search  well  your  heart,  my  dear  daughter,” 
resumed  Father  Francis.  "If  yoq  feel  even  the 


LIFE  AT  THE  BLEEDING  HEART. 


295 


faintest  yearnings  fi3r  earthly  -vanities,  I charge 
you  to  cleanse  your  mind  at  once  by  a free  and 
full  confession.” 

Kate  trembled  at  this  injunction,  delivered  as  it 
-svas  in  a tone  of  such  solemn  adjuration.  She 
experienced  a sudden  sense  of  shame  and  guilt. 
The  last  few  days  had  been  days  of  sore  trial. 
She  felt  hurt  and  grieved  at  the  injustice  which 
had  been'  done  to  her  by  the  superior  and  the 
sisters,  and  j^erhaps  her  thoughts  for  the  first  time 
had  involuntarily  strayed  beyond  the  confines  of 
convent  walls,  out  into  the  bright,  glad,  fair  world 
which  she  had  left  forever.  She  trembled  guiltily 
as  the  consciousness  of  this  flashed  upon  her ; but 
she  trembled  more  violently  still  as  Father  Fran- 
cis’s hand  glided  from  her  bowed  head  and  rested 
lightly  upon  her  shoulder.  It  was  an  accident,  of 
course ; a familiarity  in  which  the  good  father  un- 
consciously permitted  himself  to  indulge,  looking 
upon  her  undoubtedly  as  a mere  child  ; but  it 
nevertheless  shocked  and  startled  the  young  girl, 
whose  delicacy  was  of  an  extremely  sensitive 
nature.  As  before,  she  tried  timidly  to  evade 
the  obnoxious  touch,  but  the  priest’s  grasp  only 
tightened  upon  her  shrinking  form,  as  he  continued 
sternly : — 

"I  perceive  my  suspicions  are  well  founded, 
daughter.  You  tremble ; you  do  not  answer ; 


290 


KATE  ENTERS  THE  CONVENT. 


your  heart  is  not  sufficiently  submissive;  your 
tongue  rebels  against  the  task  of  revealing  the 
sinful  thoughts  that  are  even  now  agitating  you. 
The  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil  have  not  yet 
lost  their  alluring  power  over  your  wanton  imagi- 
nation. They  must  be  exorcised,  daughter,  elimi- 
nated by  the  power  of  penance  and  prayer.  Ite- 
peat  to  me  the  three  evangelical  counsels,  the 
sacred  vows  which  I have  urged  you^  to  daily 
reflect  upon.” 

The  novice,  agitated  yet  compelled  to  conceal 
her  disquietude,  answered  in  a low  voice  : — 

"They  are  absolute  poverty,  perpetual  chastity, 
implicit  obedience,^' 

"And  the  most  important  of  these  is  obedi- 
ence!’’^  said  the  priest  in  a tone  of  voice  that  sent 
a shiver  through  the  young  girl’s  frame.  "Obedi- 
ence is  enjoined  first  of  all ; enjoined  by  the 
Church,  by  the  saints,  by  the  Holy  Virgin.  It 
is  the  very  key  of  Heaven ! Obedience  to 
authority ; obeaience  to  your  mother,  the  supe- 
rior ; obedience  to  your  confessor,  who  above  all 
holds  your  conscience  in  his  keeping,  and  who 
alone  may  direct  you  in  that  path  of  duty  which 
seemeth  to  him  best  for  your  temporal  as  well  as 
your  eternal  welfare.  All  this  you  have  been 
taught  and  fully  comprehend;  do  you  not,  my 
child?” 


LIFE  AT  THE  BLEEDING  HEART. 


297 


Kate  answered  with  a faint  affirmative. 

"Very  well.  And  are  you  prepared  now  to 
bow  your  stubborn  heart ; to  yield  that  implicit 
and  utter  subjection  of  reason,  will,  and  con- 
science to  the  authority  delegated  to  me  as  your 
spiritual  guide?” 

I'here  was  something  in  the  priest’s  tone  and 
manner  so  utterly  at  variance  with  the  proper 
meaning  of  his  words,  such  a seeming  paltering 
in  a double  sense,  that  Kate's  alarm  increased 
almost  to  panic. 

Father  Francis  continues  to  speak  in  the  same 
strain,  unheeding  her  signs  of  distress.  Ilis  tone 
becomes  more  vehement ; he  bends  his  coarse, 
fat  face,  unctuous  from  good  living  and  self- 
indulgence  ; bends  it  closer  and  closer  to  Kate’s, 
until  his  hot,  fetid  breath  almost  sears  her  cheek. 

And  now  his  words  take  on  another  meaning ; 
a meaning  that  even  innocence  itself  cannot  mis- 
take. Kate  is  appalled,  paralyzed  with  terror. 
Could  she  have  heard  aright?  Were  her  senses 
leaving  her?  Was  this  a holy  priest,  a servant 
of  the  living  God,  who  dared  utter  such  terrible 
things  in  a young  girl’s  ear?  Suddenly  she  lifted 
her  head  and  looked  up  into  his  face. 

What  she  saw  there  sent  the  blood  with  a wild 
rush  back  to  her  heart.  There  was  more  of  earth 
than  of  heaven  in  the  expression  which  met  her 


298 


KATE  ENTERS  THE  CONVENT. 


gaze.  Father  Francis  quickly  perceived  the  mis- 
take he  had  made.  Me  sought  to  repair  the 
hliinder ; but  it  was  too  late.  He  had  betrayed 
himself  to  Kate’s  quickened  perception.  The 
cloven  foot  had  been  seen  beneath  the  priestly 
robe  ! 

Slowly  the  young  girl  arose  fiom  her  knees. 
Every  shade  of  color  had  fled  from  her  cheek, 
leaving  it  blanched  to  an  unearthly  whiteness.  In 
the  spiritual  light  that  seemed  to  illuminate  her 
countenance,  in  the  intense  mournfulness  that 
pervaded  its  expression,  she  looked  like  an 
accusing,  yet  pitying  angel  to  the  abashed  priest. 
She  commenced  to  speak.  The  words  came  low 
and  faltering. 

Father  Francis,  you  — you  cannot  surely  mean 
what  you  would  seem  to  insinuate  ! It  is  not  for 
me,  an  humble  girl,  ignorant,  yet  seeking  after 
the  light,  to  advise  or  reprove  a consecrated  priest. 
But  oh.  Father,  forgive  me,  I cannot  remain  silent. 
I must  implore  you  to  — ” 

"Hush,  girl!”  said  Francis,  breaking  in  with  a 
hurried  whisper,  for  at  the  moment  there  was  a 
quick,  imperious  knock  at  the  door.  The  priest 
gave  Kate  a warning  sign,  and  then,  in  a loud 
voice,  — raised  for  the  benefit  of  the  unseasonable 
applicant, — he  pronounced  the  customary  bene- 
diction ; — 


LIFE  AT  THE  BLEEDING  HEART. 


299 


nomine  Patris^  et  Filii^  et  Spiritus  Sancti, 
Anien.^^ 

The  door  opened  and  Mother  Ignatia  walked 
majestically  into  the  room.  Kate  passed  her  with 
the  customary  obeisance,  turning  her  head  to  cast 
a look  of  pitying  reproach  at  the  priest  as  she  left 
the  apartment. 

That  look  Father  Francis  never  forgot  and 
never  forgave. 

A few  words  in  explanation  of  the  scene  were 
given  to  the  superior  by  her  confessor,  which  al- 
layed any  sus|)icion  she  may  have  entertained. 
He  represented  Kate  in  an  exceedingly  unfavora- 
ble light. 

" Such  contumacy  requires  rigorous  discipline,’’ 
said  Mother  Ignatia,  after  he  had  concluded  his 
report. 

*Mt  should  be  commenced  forthwith,  holy 
mother,”  responded  the  priest,  in  a tone  that  was 
equivalent  to  a command. 

It  was  an  evil  day  for  poor  Kate  Kansom  when 
she  made  an  enemy  of  Father  Francis.  He  and 
the  superior  resolved  that  this  stubborn  spirit,  now 
showing  itself  for  the  first  time,  must  be  crushed, 
nipped  in  the  bud  without  delay. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


KATE  ACCUSES  FATHER  FRANCIS.  NO  HOPE  OF  HER 

ESCAPE. ABANDONED  TO  HER  FATE. 

Kate’s  life  at  the  convent  from  that  day  under- 
went a radical  change.  She  was  subjected  to  con- 
tinual penances ; only  the  coarsest  food  was 
allowed  her,  the  hardest  pallet  to  sleep  upon,  and 
she  was  beset  on  all  sides  by  petty  annoyances 
that  would  have  provoked  a saint  to  rebellion. 
The  most  degrading  duties  were  required  of  her, 
— duties  usually  performed  only  by  the  lowest 
menials.  But  she  never  complained.  Too  well 
she  had  been  taui^ht  the  text  of  Father  Francis’s 

O 

exhortation  on  obedience.  To  have  murmured 
would  have  been  to  invite  further  persecution. 
She  realized  now  how  deeply  she  had  suffered  her- 
self to  be  deluded.  The  beautiful  fabric  reared  by 
fancy  had  been  dissipated  like  a dream,  and  only 
a ghostly,  hideous  reality  remained.  She  was  not 
alone  in  her  misery,  however.  Other  victims  of 
systematic  craft  and  guile  languished,  sickened, 
and  died  before  her  eyes. 

But  desperate  as  her  own  life  had  become,  it 
was  far  from  being  so  hopeless  as  that  of  those 


NO  HOPE  OF  HER  ESCAPE. 


301 


unfortunate  ones  who,  having  taken  the  final  vows, 
had  awakened  when  too  late  to  the  horrors  of  their 
fate,  and  only  then  perceived  the  woful  extent  of 
their  sacrifice.  For  them  there  was  no  escape  this 
side  of  the  grave.  For  Kate  Ransom,  however, 
hope  yet  existed.  lYithout  it  she  must  have  sunk 
under  her  burdens.  That  one  single  gleam  of 
hope  sustained  and  cheered  her  amid  every  trial. 
Father  Leonard  — the  one  being  on  earth  in  whom 
she  still  retained  confidence  — had  promised  to  visit 
the  convent  at  stated  intervals,  to  acquaint  himself 
with  the  state  of  her  progress  toward  the  final 
goal  to  which,  in  his  mistaken  zeal,  he  had  destined 
his  beloved  pupil.  The  period  for  his  visit  ap- 
proached It  at  length  arrived,  but  Leonard  came 
not.  Weeks,  months,  rolled  on,  and  still  he  came 
not.  In  her  despair,  Kate  one  day  threw  herself 
upon  her  knees  to  Father  Francis,  piteously 
begging  him  to  have  compassion  on  her  wretch- 
edness. Mother  Ignatia  was  present  at  this 
scene. 

"Oh,  sir,”  Kate  tearfully  cried,  "my  punishment 
is  more  than  I can  bear ! Behold  these  wasted 
limbs,”  — stretching  out  her  arms  and  showing 
their  shrunken  proportions,  — "this  faded  cheek  ! 
I am  not  yet  twenty  years  of  age,  and  yet  fixsting 
and  penances  have  bowed  my  form  as  by  the  weight 
of  age.  Oh,  release  me,  Father ! Have  pity  on 


302 


KATE  ACCUSES  FATHER  FRANCIS. 


me,  reverend  mother,”  — turning  to  the  unmoved 
superior.  "I  find  that,  after  all,  I have  no  vocation 
for  a religious  life.  I have  taken  no  binding 
vows, — only  the  white  veil.  My  dear  parents 
would  not  force  me  to  remain  here  against  my 
present  convictions,  I am  sure,  disappointed  though 
they  may  be.” 

” Your  parents  have  assured  me  to  the  contrary, 
nevertheless,”  said  Mother  Ignatia,  coldly. 

"Your  father  has  even  called  upon  me,”  said 
Father  Francis,  "and  reiterated  his  desire  that 
nothing  should  be  suffered  to  interfere  with  the 
original  purpose  for  which  you  were  confided  to 
our  reverend  mother’s  charge.” 

" My  father  has  been  here  and  not  permitted  to 
see  me  ? ” cried  the  poor  novice  in  despairing  tones* 

" He  declined  to  see  an  undutiful  daughter,”  said 
Mother  Ignatia,  with  severity. 

"Oh,  my  God!  an  undutiful  daughter!”  cried 
Kate,  lifting  her  withered  arms  to  heaven.  "Oh  I 
if  he  but  knew  what  my  sufferings  have  been  ! If 
he  could  only  be  convinced  ivlty  I have  been  thus 
persecuted  ! ” ,4.nd  she  gave  the  priest  a glance 

that  spoke  volumes,  and  which  caused  him  to  hur- 
riedly avert  his  gaze. 

" Your  worthy  father  has  been  duly  informed  of 
your  disobedience  and  rebellious  spirit,”  said  the 
pitiless  superior,  " and  let  me  assure  you,  ungrate- 


NO  HOPE  OF  HER  ESCAPE. 


303 


fill  girl,  that  he  fully  approves  of  the  rigor  which 
has  been  pursued  toward  you.” 

" But  my  mother  ! — my  dear  mother  ! ” ex- 
claimed Kate,  eagerly.  ''  She  — ” 

"It  is  your  mother’s  dearest  desire,  her  constant 
prayer,  to  have  one  daughter  consecrated  to  the 
Church,”  interrupted  the  superior.  "It  would 
break  her  heart,  bring  your  father’s  gray  hairs  in 
sorrow  to  the  grave,  if  you,  their  dearest,  best 
beloved  child,  should  prove  recreant  to  their  hopes 
and  your  own  sacred  pledge.” 

Overwhelmed  with  sorrow  though  she  was, 
Kate’s  lip  curled  disdainfully  at  this  hypocritical 
statement. 

" Their  dearest  daughter ! ” she  repeated,  with 
an  almost  maniacal  laugh.  " ’T  is  false  ! They 
never  loved  me,  or  loved  me  least  of  all  their  chil- 
dren. Could  a father,  still  less  a mother,  consign 
a loved  daughter  to  such  a livins:  tomb  as  this  con- 
vent, — this  whited  sepulchre,  beautiful  outwardly, 
but  full  of  all  nncleanness  within?  Nay,  I 
speak  ! ” she  cried  with  startling  energy,  as  both 
the  superior  and  the  priest  sprang  to  their  feet  in 
horritied  amazement  at  such  a bold  denunciation 
on  the  part  of  this  weak  and  frail  girl,  who,  until 
now,  had  never  uttered  a word  of  protest  against 
the  long  course  of-iil-treatment  which  she  had  re- 
ceived.  " Though  you  visit  upon  me  the  utmost 


304: 


KATE  ACCUSES  FATHER  FRANCIS. 


resources  of  your  cruelty,  I will  unburden  my 
almost  bursting  heart ! 1 shall  die  or  go  mad,  as 

I have  seen  others  do  in  this  charnel-house,  mis- 
called a house  of  God,  if  my  lips  remain  longer 
sealed.  Last  night,  poor  Sister  Agatha  died, 
calling  incessantly  upon  the  name  of  her  mother, 
Avho  lives  but  a stone’s  throw  from  this  place,  and 
you,  Father  Francis,  denied  her  dying  prayer,  — 
gave  her  a stone  when  she  asked  for  bread.  Why  ? 
Because,  forsooth,  you  claimed  it  to  be  inimical  to 
the  interests  of  relio^ion  and  the  future  well-beinor 
of  that  poor,  dying  nun  to  admit  an  imconsecrated 
person  into  her  cell,  though  that  person  was  the 
mother  that  bore  her ! Oh,  inhuman  priest ! 
How  shall  jmu  answer  for  that  crime  against  na- 
ture, against  religion,  at  the  last  great  day  ! All 
the  holy  saints  in  the  calendar  will  stand  out 
against  you,  and  deny  you  on  account  of  that 
hear! less  act,  or  there  is  no  justice  in  heaven.” 

” Heresy  ! Blasphemy  ! Sacrilege  ! ” cried  the 
astounded  priest  and  the  superior  together. 

”I  stood  in  the  corridor  all  night  long  and 
listened  to  poor  Agatha’s  cries,”  pursued  the 
young  girl,  with  an  impetuosity  that  would  not  be 
checked.  "I  knelt  on  the  cold  stones  and  be- 
sought all  the  heavenly  host  to  soften  your  heart 
and  grant  the  poor  nun’s  dying  wish ; but  all  in 
vain.  I heard  her  last  petition,  as,  with  her 


NO  HOPE  OF  HER  ESCAPE. 


305 


Burviving  strength,  she  pushed  aside  the  conse- 
crated wafer  you  tried  to  force  between  her  lips, 
and  murmured,  ' No,  no  ! I want  no  priest,  no 
priest ; only  my  mother,  my  dear,  dear  mother  ! ’ 
and,  with  that  wild  scream  of  agony,  the  scales 
falling  from  her  eyes  in  death,  the  voice  of  na- 
ture and  of  nature’s  God  triumphing  over  the 
delusion  of  a lifetime,  Sister  Agatha  breathed  her 
last.” 

"And  for  refusing  the  last  rites  of  the  Church, 
her  soul  is  now  writhing  in  everlasting  torment ! ” 
cried  the  enraged  priest,  every  brutal  instinct  of 
his  nature  asserting  itself  at  being  thus  bearded  b}’ 
this  girl  in  her  teens.  " Down  on  your  knees, 
foolish  girl ! Retract  every  word  you  have  dared 
utter  in  this  presence  ; swear  by  your  soul’s  salva- 
tion never  to  lisp  a syllable  into  another’s  ear  of 
that  you  have  so  treacherously  overheard  and  so 
shamelessly  repeated,  or  I call  down  the  irrevo- 
cable curse  of  the  Church  upon  your  sacrilegious 
head ! ” 

And,  foaming  at  the  mouth.  Father  Francis 
rushed  upon  the  dauntless  girl,  seized  her  by  both 
shoulders,  and  forced  her  to  the  floor.  Mother 
Ignatia  looking  on  without  a word  of  protest. 

But  even  in  that  dreadful  moment  Kate  Ransom 
did  not  lose  her  self-control.  She  managed  to 
catch  the  eye  of  the  infuriated  priest,  and,  with  a 
20 


306 


KATE  ACCUSES  FATHER  FRANCIS. 


warning  look  toward  the  superior,  whispered  the 
single  word,  " Remember 

That  word  and  glance  produced  an  extraordinary 
eflect ; they  brought  Father  Francis  to  his  senses 
like  magic.  The  scene  in  the  confessional  came 
back  to  his  mind.  Kate  was  in  a mood  to  betray 
the  true  inwardness  of  that  scene  if  he  drove  her 
to  extremities.  He  looked  apprehensively  at 
Mother  Ignatia,  then  at  the  warning  countenance 
of  Kate,  and  wisely  concluded  that  just  then 
discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor. 

had  very  nearly  forgotten  myself  and  your 
august  presence,  reverend  madam,”  he  said,  apolo- 
getically, and  with  an  assumption  of  much  dignity. 
"As  for  you,  wicked  girl,  a day  of  reckoning  is 
not  far  distant,”  he  added,  in  a tone  meant  for 
Kate’s  ear  alone. 

" Heaven  grant  that  day  may  speedily  come  ! ” 
retorted  Kate  fervently:  "it  will  be  the  day  of 
my  release  from  a thraldom  more  terrible  than  the 
fear  of  death;  but,”  she  continued,  with  the  air 
of  an  inspired  prophetess,  " whether  my  life  is 
spared  or  I succumb  to  the  inhumanity  practised 
in  this  place,  such  crimes  in  the  name  of  religion 
as  I have  seen  committed  here  must  sooner  or 
later  be  exposed  to  the  world.  Honest  Catholics, 
cradled  in  the  faith,  purblind  Protestants,  for- 
getting the  teachings  of  history,  will  long  be 


NO  HOPE  OF  HER  ESCAPE. 


307 


incredulous  ; but  the  awakening  will  surely  come. 
Justice  may  be  delayed,  but  its  hour  is  certain; 
and  woe,  woe  to  that  people  and  that  church 
whose  deeds  shall  have  hastened  the  day  of 
wrath  ! ” 

She  ceased,  and  for  some  seconds  the  stillness 
of  death  reigned  in  the  room.  At  last,  Father 
Francis,  after  a moment’s  whispered  conference 
with  the  superior,  approached  the  young  girl,  and 
said  in  a constrained  tone  of  voice  : — 

"The  good  Mother  Ignatia  is  disposed  to  be 
much  more  lenient  with  you  than  you  deserve, 
mad  girl.  She  is  willing  to  believe  that  over- 
taxed nerves  and  an  abnormally  excited  imagina- 
tion are  responsible  for  your  extraordinary  con- 
duct. On  the  promise  of  proper  amendment,  you 
will  be  reinstated  in  your  former  position  here, 
with  the  express  understanding,  however,  that 
you  devote  the  remaining  period  of  your  novitiate 
to  preparations  for  taking  the  veil,  as  originally 
intended  by  your  family  and  yourself.  Now  go 
and  prostrate  yourself  before  the  kind  and  forgiv- 
ing Mother  Superior  and  thank  her  for  the  indul- 
gence which  she  shows  you.” 

And  the  priest  waved  his  hands  commandingly 
toward  Mother  Ignatia ; but  Kate  did  not  stir. 

"Pray  pardon  me,  your  reverence,”  she  said, 
resolutely,  yet  with  due  respect.  " But  I do  not 


303 


KATE  ACCUSES  FATHER  FRANCIS. 


now  feel  confidence  enough  in  my  own  judgment 
to  decide  unaided  a question  of  such  importance. 
If  i may  be  allowed  to  take  counsel  — ” 

” You  shall  have  time  for  due  consideration,  my 
daughter,”  said  the  priest,  assuming  a more  gra- 
cious manner. 

"You  do  not  understand  me,  your  reverence,” 
returned  Kate ; and  then,  swiftly  approaching 
Mother  Ignatia,  she  flung  herself  upon  her  knees, 
and,  raising  her  clasped  hands,  she  cried  in  a sup- 
plicating tone  : — 

"Oh,  dear  madam,  do  not  deny  my  humble 
petition  ! I beg,  pray,  that  you  Avill  graciously 
allow  me  to  see  one  who  guided  my  footsteps 
from  earliest  youth,  who  has  ever  been  the  kindest 
of  counsellors  to  me,  the  dearest  of  friends.  lie, 
if  any  one,  can  remove  all  my  doubts  and  show 
me  the  true  path  of  duty.  I faithfully  promise  to 
abide  by  his  decision,  after  I shall  have  revealed 
to  him  my  perplexities:  Oh,  dear,  dear  madam, 

I beseech  you  to  send  for  Father  Leonard  ! ” 

Mother  Ignatia  turned  a quick,  almost  fright- 
ened glance  at  her  confessor,  who,  long  ago  pre- 
pared for  the  emergency,  gave  her  a warning  look 
in  return,  and  hastily  interposed. 

"If  it  were  only  possible,  my  daughter,  I am 
confident  our  good  mother  would  gladly  grant 
your  request.  But  did  you  not  know,  have  you 


NO  HOPE  OF  HER  ESCAPE. 


309 


not  heard  that  Father  Leonard  has  long  since 
given  up  his  parish?” 

" Father  Leonard  given  up  his  parish  ! ” slowly 
repeated  the  poor  girl,  completely  overwhelmed. 

” Yes.  And  has  de[)arted  on  a distant  mission, 
from  whence  he  will  not  return  for  years,  if  he 
ever  returns,”  continued  the  priest. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  this  statement  was  a 
pure  invention. 

"Then  my  last  hope  is  gone,”  murmured  Kate, 
despairingly.  "Father,  mother,  sisters,  friends, 
not  one  cares  what  becomes  of  me ; I am  aban- 
doned by  all.” 

Poor  Kate  ! Poor,  helpless  victim  of  a creed 
that  knows  no  mercy,  stops  at  no  artifice  to  en- 
force its  iron  rule.  Henceforth  hope  died  within 
Kate’s  breast.  A cheerless,  rayless,  hopeless 
gloom  settled  upon  heart  and  soul.  She  felt 
there  was  no  escape  from  her  fate.  She  was  a 
slave,  a captive  under  fetters  more  unyielding  than 
were  ever  forged  by  the  most  despotic  human 
ingenuity  known  in  the  whole  dark  history  of 
’man’s  inhumanity  to  man.” 


CHAPTER  XXX 


KATE  RANSOM  COUNTS  THE  COST.  — SISTER  MARIE  FAINTS 
AT  THE  BLACK  VEIL.  A COMMOTION  IN  THE  CON- 

VENT. 

Reform  is  of  slow  growth,  whether  in  insti- 
tutions, in  the  policy  of  states,  or  in  the  human, 
individual  heart.  So  it  was  with  Michael  Law- 
ler. The  good  impulse  had  been  born  within 
him.  His  love  for  Kate  Ransom  had  sprung 
suddenly  into  being.  While  under  the  influ- 
ence of  Kate’s  immediate  presence  that  flame 
burned  like  a sacrificial  fire,  cleansing  and  puri- 
tying ; but  when  she  was  taken  from  him  he 
was  daily  and  hourly  beset  by  the  old  tempta- 
tions, and  more  than  once  was  in  danger  of  relaps- 
ing into  his  former  evil  habits. 

Still  he  struggled  manfully.  He  earnestly 
wanted  to  make  himself  worthy  of  Kate’s  love. 
His  determination  to  find  her,  and  if  possible 
procure  an  interview,  never  wavered.  He  felt 
confident  that  once  in  her  presence  he  could 
plead  his  cause  eloquently  enough  to  convince 
her  that  he  was  honest  in  his  intentions,  and 
desired  to  make  her  his  wife  before  the  whole 


SISTER  MARIE  FAINTS  AT  THE  BLACK  VEIL.  311 


world.  Furthermore,  he  would  show  her  that 
he  was  on  the  road  to  repentance  for  the  past 
ftnd  amendment  for  the  future. 

" Yes,  1 ’ll  search  the  world  over  but  I’ll  find 
her,”  said  he  to  himself  after  that  dramatic  inter- 
view with  Father  Leonard.  ” 1 ’ve  got  such  a bad 
name,  no  wonder  Kate’s  friends  are  suspicious  of 
me,  and  dare  not  trust  her  to  my  keeping.  Trust 
a wolf  to  guard  the  lamb,  they  say,  probably.  So 
be  it.  1 ’ll  conquer  their  pnqudices  if  I live. 
But  first  to  find  out  where  they  have  hidden  ray 
darling.  Let  me  but  see  her  once,  or  put  a letter 
in  her  hand,  and  1 ’ll  overturn  every  scheme  of 
priest  or  layman,  or  else  there  is  no  power  in  a 
true  lover’s  tongue.” 

Arduous  indeed  was  the  task  before  him.  There 
was  absolutely  no  clew  to  work  upon ; but  money 
will  do  almost  anything  in  a corrupt  and  sordid 
world,  and  Michael  Lawler  was  not  sparing  in  its 
use.  Skilful  detectives,  stimulated  by  enormous 
bribes,  were  literally  scouring  the  country  for  a clew 
to  Kate  Ransom’s  hiding-place.  For  weeks  the  anx- 
ious lover  lived  a life  of  daily  torture,  now  raised 
to  the  summit  of  hope,  now  plunged  into  the  very 
})it  of  des|>air,  as  his  spies  made  favorable  or  un 
favorable  reports. 

At  last  came  news  that  caused  Michael  Lawlei’a 
heart  to  bound  with  triumphant  joy.  He  almost 


312 


KATE  RANSOM  COUNTS  THE  COST. 


hii2r2red  the  detective  who  bronirht  this  delightful 
intoHigence.  Kate  was  found  at  last. 

But  the  most  difficult  task  remained.  How  to 
communicate  with  her  was  the  question.  How  to 
penetrate  those  convent  walls,  — those  walls  which 
were  guarded  with  all  the  jealous  care  of  a sul- 
tan’s seraglio. 

But  Michael’s  talisman  was  potent  even  here  ; 
the  goldop  key  will  unlock  even  the  gates  of  the 
Convent  of  the  Bleeding  Heart,  though  those  gates 
were  guarded  by  a grim,  half-idiotic  old  Cerbe- 
rus whom  no  bribe  had  ever  swayed  or  tempted 
before. 

" At  last,  then,  we  are  successful ! ” cried  Mi- 
chael to  the  detective  who  had  negotiated  this  deli- 
cate piece  oi  finesse.  "Once  more  I shall  see  my 
little  girl ; and  in  twenty-four  hours  she  will  he 
out  of  the  hands  of  the^e  scheming  priests,  and 
safe,  I trust,  with  one  who  will  know  how  to  pro- 
tect her  against  their  infernal  machinations.” 

"You  are  going  ahead  too  fast,  Mr.  Lawler,” 
said  the  detective,  smiling  at  his  patron’s  almost 
boyish  eagerness.  "I  can’t  as  yet  promise  you  so 
much  as  that,  although  in  the  end  we  may  be  able 
to  bring  about  an  interview.  At  present  all  I 
could  arninge  was  to  have  a letter  placed  in  the 
young  lady’s  hands.  It  Avill'remain  then  to  get  her 
to  consent  to  meet  you,  and  the  rest  will  be  easy.” 


SISTER  MARIE  FAINTS  AT  THE  BLACK  VEIL.  313 


Meanwhile  let  us  see  how  it  has  fared  with  Kate 
Ransom  of  late.  Since  the  cruel  intelligence  she 
had  received  that  Father  Leonard  had  gone  away, 
her  spirits  had  sunk  to  the  lowest  ebb.  She  per- 
formed the  duties  devolving  upon  her,  but  per- 
formed them  mechanically.  The  same  ceaseless 
monotonous  round  went  on  day  by  day,  and  day 
by  day  her  once  lovely  form  grew  thinner  and 
thinner,  her  health  slowly  ebbed  away,  and  it 
needed  but  a t^lance  to  see  that  she  was  hovering 
on  the  borders  of  the  grave. 

About  this  time  an  unusual  stir  of  preparation 
was  seen  about  the  Convent  of  the  Bleeding  Heart : 
an  event  of  great  interest  and  high  solemnity  is 
soon  to  take  place  therein.  This  is  nothing  less 
than  the  "consecration  ’’  of  a young  girl  who,  hav- 
ing completed  her  novitiate,  is  now  to  assume  the 
black  veil,  and  take  her  final  leave  of  the  world 
and  all  that  it  holds  dear. 

Kate  and  this  girl  have  been  drawn  toward  each 
other  by  a common  sympathy.  Both  were  beau- 
tiful, and  both  had  been  devoted  by  the  fanatical 
zeal  of  their  parents  to  the  life  of  a religieuse. 
But  the  rule  of  the  convent  prohibiting  " particular 
friendships”  among  its  inmates  forbade  these  two 
young  girls  from  communicating  with  each  other 
except  on  religious  topics ; yet  looks  of  sympa- 
thy and  covert  press ui  es  of  the  hand  now  and  then 


314  KATE  RANSOM  COUNTS  THE  COST. 

were  exchanged,  despite  the  vigilance  of  spies  and 
informers. 

Human  nature  is  the  same  under  all  circum- 
stances. A state  prison  or  a convent,  despite 
rigid  rules  and  severe  discipline,  develops  resist- 
ance to  excessive  authority.  Men  or  women,  for- 
bidden to  talk  or  communicate  with  each  other, 
will  find  some  means  of  evasion.  Thus  restrained 
they  will  learn  a new  language,  — a language  with- 
out words. 

At  last  the  eventful  day  arrived.  The  chapel  of 
the  convent  is  tilled  with  invited  guests,  friends 
and  relatives  of  the  young  candidate,  and  patrons 
of  the  convent.  The  exercises  are  of  that  oforsfeous 
and  impressive  character  for  which  the  Romish 
ceremonial  is  famous  the  world  over.  The  minor 
details  we  pass  over,  and  come  to  the  final  solem- 
nities, the  ritual  of  which  is  taken  from  the  high- 
est Roman  Catholic  authority,  the  " Pontificale 
Romaniim.” 

The  veil,  the  marriage  ring,  and  the  torque  hav- 
ing been  hallowed,  the  bishop  bent  over  the 
kneeling  girl  and  placed  the  veil  over  her  head, 
saying,  — 

" Aecipe  velamen  sacrum^'*^  etc.  " Receive  thou 
the  sacred  veil,  whereby  thou  mayest  be  known 
to  have  contemned  the  world,  and,  lowly  and 
huinblj’,  with  the  whole  endeavor  of  thy  heart,  to 


SISTER  MARIE  FAINTS  AT  THE  BLACK  VEIL.  315 

hiive  sul)jecte»l  thyself  as  a wife  to  Jesus  Christ 
.forever.” 

Then,  taking  tlie  ring  in  his  right  hand  and  the 
virgin’s  right  hand  in  his  left,  he  puts  the  ring  on 
her  tinger  and  es[)ouses  her  to  Jesus  Christ,  say- 
ing, — 

I espouse  thee  to  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  the 
Supreme  Father,  who  will  keep  thee  undeliled  : 
therefore  receive  the  rino*  of  faith,  the  seal  of  the 

O 

Holy  Gho-t,  so  that  thou  he  called  the  spouse  of 
God,  and,  if  thou  serve  him  faithfully,  be  crowned 
everlastingly.  In  nomine  Patris^  et  Filii^  el 
/Spirifvs  Sandi.  AmenP 

The  kneeling  nuns  then  sing,  — 

' Ipsi  mm  defiponsata  cui  angelo  serviuntp  etc. 
("  I am  espoused  to  Him  whom  angels  serve,  and 
at  whose  beauty  the  sun  and  moon  do  marvel  ”) 
The  bishop  then  concludes  the  ceremonies  with 
a benediction  addressed  to  the  newly  consecrated 
nun,  closing  with  an  exhortation  to  the  superior 
of  the  convent,  a portion  of  which  only,  for  the 
sake  of  propriety  and  decency,  can  be  given  : — 

" Take  care  how  thou  keepest  these  virgins,  Avho 
are  consecrated  to  God,  and  that  thou  again  pre- 
sent them  to  him  immaculate^  as  thou  shalt  render 
an  account  for  them  before  the  tribunal  of  their 
kusl)a)td,  the  Judge  that  is  to  come.” 

Father  Francis,  as  the  confessor  of  the  Convent 


316  KATE  RANSOM  COUNTS  THE  COST. 


of  the  Bleeding  Heart,  was  given  an  important 
part  in  the  proceedings.  Sister  Marie,  the  young 
candidate,  looked  inexpressihl}^  lovely,  but  very 
sad,  as  it  seemed  to  Kate  Ransom,  who  watched 
the  ceremonies  with  an  eager  interest,  for  before 
long  she  herself  would  undoubtedly  be  called 
upon  to  go  through  with  the  same.  She  felt  that, 
like  poor  Sister  Marie,  she  was  as  a lamb  being 
led  to  the  slaughter.  All  power  of  resistance  was 
gone.  Her  will  was  broken,  her  spirit  crushed. 
Despite  her  repugnance  now  to  becoming  a nun, 
nay,  in  spite  of  the  utter  loathing  and  horror 
which  the  very  idea  occasioned  her,  Kate  could  see 
no  loophole  of  escape. 

Sabniitl  Submit!'^  That  was  the 
watchword  written  all  over  this  horrible  den  of 
human  miseiy.  It  stared  her  in  the  face  on  all 
side>,  — in  her  cell,  from  the  altar,  at  the  refectory, 
during  her  hours  of  manual  drudgery,  even  in 
the  brief  half-hour  of  recreation  which  the  con- 
vent rules  alone  permitted. 

But  when  Father  Francis,  supplementing  the 
bishop’s  benediction,  approached  the  kneeling  sis- 
ter Marie,  and  said,  " Sister,  thou  art  dead  to  the 
world,  dead  to  relations  and  friends,  dead  even  to 
thyself ; henceforth  thou  livest  only  to  the  Lord,” — 
when  these  words  fell  upon  her  ear,  coming  from 
the  lips  of  this  hypocritical  priest,  whose  vileness 


SISTER  MAJim  FAINTS  AT  THE  BLACK  VEIL.  317 


she  knew,  if  no  one  else  did,  a spii  it  of  rebellion 
was  suddenly  aroused  in  Kate's  bosom. 

She  vowed  in  her  secret  heart  that  she;  would 
never  take  the  veil.  She  would  deceive,  cajole, 
pretend,  as  she  herself  had  been  deceived.  Such 
was  the  lesson  convent  life  had  taught  her,  and 
she  resolved  in  this  moment  of  awakening  to 
profit  by  that  teaching ; lor  never  till  now  had 
she  fully  realized  what  that  terrible  act  of  renun- 
ciation meant.  ^^Dead  to  the  world  I Dead  to  Ihy^ 
self!  ” 

Oh,  what  a sense  of  overwhelming  horror 
surofed  like  an  ensrulfino:  wave  over  her  soul ! 
What  a hideous  night  of  blackness  seemed  casting 
its  dense  shadow  over  her  poor  friend  Marie’s  life  ! 
To  be  dead  to  the  world,  blotted  from  the  great, 
joyous  volume  of  existence.  Oh,  horror  upon 
horrors  ! Where  were  heaven’s  thunderbolts,  that 
such  iniquity  against  humanity,  against  God’s 
written  law,  should  be  committed  with  impunity? 
Committed  in  the  face,  too,  of  this  large  audience, 
and  not  one  word  of  protest,  nothing  but  a rever- 
ent hush,  or,  a still  more  reverent,  though  silent 
approbation. 

Hut  there  came  at  this  very  moment,  as  if  in 
answer  to  Kate’s  mental  invocation,  a startling 
interruption  to  the  ceremonies. 

The  rich,  solemn  swell  of  the  organ  and  the 


318  . KATE  RANSOM  COUNTS  THE  COST. 


voices  of  fifty  nuns,  all  trained  vocalists,  were 
raised  in  a closing  chant  of  praise,  when  Sister 
Marie  was  seen  to  totter  and  reel  giddily.  Father 
Francis  was  just  in  time  to  catch  her  in  his  arms 
as  bhe  fell  forward,  a mere  lump  of  senseless 
clay. 

A scene  of  confusion  followed.  The  nuns,  for- 
getting ail  discipline,  pressed  round  the  unfortu- 
nate girl,  wailing  and  wringing  their  hands,  while 
her  immediate  relatives  present  in  the  audience 
sprang  to  her  side  and  increased  the  tumult  by 
their  cries  and  lamentations. 

Meantime  Father  Francis  and  the  mother  su- 
perior had  laid  the  inanimate  form  of  Sister  Marie 
upon  the  floor,  and  were  chafing  her  limp,  cold 
hands,  in  the  vain  attempt  to  restore  animation. 

"Sisters,  friends,  stand  back,  and  give  her 
air,”  said  the  priest,  in  a commanding  tone  ; and 
as  they  obeyed,  he  said  something  in  a low,  fright- 
ened whisper  to  Mother  Ignatia  which  caused  her 
cheek  to  pale  and  her  form  to  tremble  as  if 
stricken  with  an  ague-fit. 

A "lance  at  the  hueless  fiice  of  Sister  Marie  had 
told  the  experienced  priest  wdiat  no  one  else  for  a 
moment  dreamed.  He  and  the  superior  alone 
knew  what  it  had  cost  the  young  candidate  to  go 
through  with  the  ceremony.  The  night  before,  at 
the  last  moment,  nearly,  she  had  utterly  broken 


SISTER  MARIE  FAINTS  AT  THE  BLACK  VEIL.  319 


clown,  and  had  supplicated  them  with  tears  and 
prayers  not  to  eompel  her  to  perform  the  sacrifice. 

"I  will  do  any  penance,  Father  Francis,”  she 
had  pleaded,  "will  accept  any  punishment  you 
may  prescribe,  though  I am  weak  and  almost  dying 
from  what  I have  already  undergone.  But  oh, 
I implore  you  to  delay  my  consecration  ! Do  not 
let  it  take  place  to-morrow  : I am  not  fit  to  undergo 
the  ordeal.  Spare  me.  Father ! Spare  me,  dear 
Mother  Ignatia.  Give  me  more  time  to  bring  my 
rebellious  heart  under  subjection : it  would  be 
wrong,  nay,  it  would  be  sacrilege,  for  me  to  take 
my  vows  in  my  present  mood.  Oh,  I am  so  sin- 
ful ! 1 know  I am  proud,  wilful,  and  obdurate.” 

Poor,  deluded  child  ! Her  soul  was  as  white,  as 
pure  and  spotless  as  the  driven  snow ; yet  she  was 
forced  to  believe  that  it  was  black  as  ink. 

Alas  ! she  had  no  will  of  her  own  left-,  no  in- 
dividuality of  being.  She  was  but  a crushed 
worm  under  the  wicked  heel  of  cruel  and  tyran- 
nical oppressors.  And  all  this  oppression,  all  this 
pageantry  and  show,  all  this  glitter  and  tinsel  of 
artificial  worship,  all  this  abject  submission  to  the 
artful  superior  with  hands  crossed  on  the  breast, 
eyes  cast  down  U[)on  the  floor,  like  a State-prison 
convict,  not  allowed  to  look  up,  — this  was  to  pre- 
pare her  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Intellect, 
womanhood,  and  common-sense  all  crushed 


320  KATE  RANSOM  COUNTS  THE  COST. 


out ; as  if  God  delights  to  make  his  children 
idiotic  suppliants  and  subservient  imbeciles  before 
he  can  save  them.  Out  upon  such  doctrines ! 
Out  upon  such  nonsense  ! It  is  a libel  on  the 
Deity.  It  might  do  for  mediaeval  times,  but  not 
for  this  nineteenth  century  of  enlightenment  and 
progress. 

"Oh,  spare  me  a few  days  ! Give  me  time,”  said 
the  poor,  crushed  girl. 

But  her  prayer  was  uiinvailing : it  came  too 
late.  What ! Postpone  the  grand  t^eremony 
which  had  been  preparing  for  months,  because 
this  silly  girl  was  suddenly  afflicted  with  a con- 
scientious scruple?  Ridiculous!  Preposterous! 
Other  novices  might  follow  her  example  : this  cere- 
mony must  go  on. 

And  so  they  had  labored  with  her  all  that  night, 
until  at  last  exhausted,  and  perceiving  the  utter  use- 
lessness of  contending  further,  poor  Marie  yielded. 
But  in  yielding  she  had  said  to  the  implacable 
Mother  Ignatia  and  her  satellite.  Father  Francis, 
"You  have  found  me  ever  submissive  until  now. 
]\Iy  highest  aspiration  has  been  to  ol>ey  the  voice 
of  tho^e  whom  God  has  appointed  to  be  my 
spiritual  guides.  I do  not  murmur,  since  it  is 
Heaven’s  will ; but  you  see  how  feeble  my 
strength  is.  Father.  I can  hardly  stand  erect,  can 
barely  walk  without  assistance.  I feel  my  physi- 


SISTER  MARIE  FAINTS  AT  THE  BLi\CK  VEIL.  321 


cal  powers  are  failing  me.  That  cause,  no  doubt, 
has  weakened  my  power  of  will ; but  I will  com- 
b;it  my  weakness.  I will  pray  to  the  Holy  Virgin 
for  strength  to  endure  to  the  end.  Something 
whispers  to  me  that  I shall  not  survive  the  ordeal, 
however ; but  that  is  in  the  hands  of  Heaven. 
Say  farewell  to  me  now,  dear  Mother  Ignatia  ; and 
you,  my  S|>iritual  father,  give  me  your  Hnal  bless_ 
ing  before  we  part  to-night.”  And  with  the  resigned 
air  of  one  who  was  prepared  to  die,  and  welcomed 
death  as  a happy  release.  Sister  Marie  knelt  be- 
fore the  priest  with  bowed  head  and  arms  meekly 
folded  across  her  bosom,  to  receive  the  desired 
boon. 

Even  Father  Francis’s  gross  nature  was  affected 
at  so  much  gentleness  and  saintlike  humility.  His 
voice  faltered  as  he  pronounced  the  blessing. 

"You  will  feel  better  in  the  morning,  my  child,” 
he  said  afterward,  as  he  conducted  the  J^oung  can- 
didate from  the  room.  "You  are  nervous  and  ex- 
cited, as  the  great  event  of  your  life  approaches, 
and  naturally  are  apprehensive  about  facing  the 
large  concourse  of  people  who  will  be  present  to- 
morrow. That  is  usually  the  case  with  candidates 
for  consecration.  Dismiss  your  gloomy  fears, 
dear  sister.  Call  on  the  Virgin  for  aid.  Remem- 
ber above  all  things  that  the  eyes  of  the  Church  as 
well  as  the  eyes  of  its  enemies  will  be  upon  you, 
21 


322  KATE  EANSOM  COUNTS  THE  COST. 

and  let  that  thought  sustain  and  uplift  you.” 
And  to  the  very  last  poor  Sister  Marie  remem- 
bered those  words.  The  superiority  of  mind  over 
matter,  of  spirit  over  the  shrinking  flesh,  was 
never  more  forcibly  exemplified.  Her  exertions 
for  self-control  were  simply  superhuman. 

Father  Francis  watched  her  every  moment. 
His  eye  never  left  her  face.  It  was  one  of  the 
most  successful  " consecrations  ” he  had  ever  wit- 
nessed. He  alone  marked  the  ashy  hue  that  sud- 
denly crept  into  Sister  Marie’s  face  as  he  pro- 
nounced those  fateful  words,  — ” Flenceforth  thou 
livest  only  for  the  Lord,” — and  thus  he  was  the 
first  to  spring  to  her  assistance. 

At  a glance  he  understood  what  had  occurred. 
Sister  Marie’s  premonition  had  been  literally  ful- 
filled. Her  overtaxed  heart  had  given  way  under 
the  terrible  strain. 

" This  is  death ! ” whispered  Father  Francis  to 
Mother  Ignatia ; " but  let  it  not  be  known  at 
present.”  And  then  turning  to  some  of  the  terri- 
fied nuns,  he  reassured  them,  and  bade  them  con- 
vey Sister  Marie  to  the  superior’s  private  apart- 
ment. 

The  congregation  slowly  dispersed ; but  it  was 
not  generally  known  until  the  next  day  that  Sister 
Marie,  who  had  fainted  just  after  taking  the  black 
veil,  had  subsequently  died.  She  had  been  long 


SISTER  MARIE  FAINTS  AT  THE  BLACK  VEIL.  323 

afflicted  with  heart  disease,  it  was  stated ; but, 
though  the  danger  of  undergoing  any  unusual  ex- 
citement had  been  pointed  out  to  her,  she  had  per- 
sistently prayed  that  she  might  be  allowed  to 
fulfil  the  purpose  of  her  life. 

Such  was  the  explanation  furnished  to  the  out- 
side world.  The  most  in^igni^icant  inmate  of  the 
Convent  of  the  Bleeding  Heart,  however,  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  real  facts. 

Upon  Kate  Ransom  the  terrible  event  produced 
the  deepest  affliction.  Sister  Marie  had  been  ev- 
erything to  her,  the  only  being  to  whom  her  heart 
warmed,  the  only  one  she  loved,  the  only  confid- 
ing soul  she  could  call  friend  in  that  convent. 
"And  now  she  is  dead,”  thought  Kate  in  her 
desolate  cell.  " Dead  at  her  bridal ; dead  in 
her  nuptial  robes ; dead  just  as  she  had  been 
made  the  bride  of  heaven’s  Sovereign,  with  the 
wedding  ring,  emblem  of  eternity,  encircling  her 
cold  finger. 

"No,  rather  the  bride  of  Death.  Victim  of 
a soul-crushing,  heart-breaking  delusion,  driven 
to  death  by  systematic  persecution. 

"Oh,  mockery  of  religion!  Oh,  wanton  trifling 
with  heaven’s  familiar  laws  I Oh,  the  curse,  the 
stigma,  the  undying  shame  of  doctrines  that  lead 
to  such  results  as  this  I ” 

Kate  Ransom,  in  her  agony  of  desolation  and 


324  KATE  RAMSOM  COUNTS  THE  COST. 

despair,  walking  her  cell,  almost  unconsciously 
uttered  these  distracted  thoughts  aloud. 

In  a convent  there  are  ears  which  are  never 
closed,  eyes  that  are  forever  on  the  watch.  Such 
eyes  are  now  upon  Kate,  and  such  ears  have  over- 
heard her  wild  utterances. 

The  door  of  the  cell  is  noiselessly  opened. 
Kate,  all  unconscious  of  another  presence,  con- 
tinues to  cry  her  thoughts  aloud. 

” O Marie,  Marie  ! My  friend,  my  sister  ! 
Whitest  of  souls,  purest  and  tenderest  of  women  ! 
Earth  was  indeed  not  worthy  of  you,  but  heaven 
surely  would  have  spared  you  to  be  a blessing  and 
a comfort  to  me  and  to  others,  but  for  the  wicked 
and  unholy  zealots  who  drove  you  to  your  doom.” 
Kate’s  usually  gentle  and  melancholy  countenance 
was  now  blazino’  with  a righteous  wrath ; her  hand 
was  upraised,  as  if  about  to  smite  a cruel  op- 
pressor, as  Jael  smote  Sisera,  or  as  the  Maid  of 
Orleans,  with  menacing  sword,  waved  on  her  le- 
gions to  the  assault  of  her  country’s  enemies. 

Casting  her  eyes  toward  the  door  the  young 
novice  suddenly  perceived  Mother  Ignatia  and 
Father  Francis  standing  upon  the  threshold. 
Their  countenances,  severe  and  malign,  might  have 
intimidated  another  ; but  Kate  was  now  in  a daunt- 
less mood.  She  flew  towards  them  like  an 
avenging  spirit,  witli  that  arm  still  held  aloft, 


SISTER  MARIE  FAINTS  AT  THE  BLACK  VEIL.  325 


and,  with  fla4iing  eyes,  she  cried,  "Yes,  I 
repeat  it  to  your  faces,  wicked  and  unholy 
zealots,  I charge  you  with  that  young  girl’s 
death.  Murder  would  not  be  too  harsh  a name 
for  your  inhuman  persecutions,  your  cruel  and 
unceasing  acts  toward  that  helpless  innocent,  that 
dying  saint.  Oh,  that  I could  bring  you  both 
before  a court  of  law  ! Hanging  is  too  light  a pen- 
alty for  such  atrocities  as  are  daily  committed  by 
you  ill  this  place  of  horrors.  Think  of  those 
whom  you  have  deluded ; think  of  their  suSer- 
ings.  These  cloisters  echo  with  groans  at  this 
moment.  Souls  are  in  greater  torment  within 
these  stone  walls  than  could  ever  be  felt  in  the 
purgatory  or  the  hell  of  the  Catholic  Church. 
What  greater  a«:onies,  what  more  horrible  tor- 
tures,  can  the  soul  endure  after  death  than  such 
as  are  hourly  suffering  in  this  house  of  secrets, 
this  prison  pen  of  innocent  hearts?  Oh,  shame, 
shame  on  such  monsters,  assuming  to  guide  im- 
mortal souls  to  heaven,  and  with  hearts  filled  with 
venom  and  guile  ! I see  what  you  would  do  with 
me,  if  you  dared  give  way  to  your  desires ; you 
would  strike  me  dead  where  I stand.  But  God  is 
over  all.  He  will  protect  me  even  in  this  place. 
I feel  an  abiding  faith  in  his  merc}^  and  I warn 
you  that  the  cries  of  your  victims  have  gone  up  to 
heaven,  and  will  yet  bring  down  upon  you  that 


326  KATE  RANSOM  COUNT’S  THE  COST. 

vengeance  which  is  promised  against  the  oppress- 
ors of  the  helpless  and  the  unprotected.” 

The  superior  and  the  confessor  seemed  to  shrink 
and  cringe  before  this  blast  of  righteous  indig- 
nation. Never  had  such  a torrent  of  invectives 
been  poured  upon  their  heads  before.  Verily, 
the  vials  of  wrath  were  opened  upon  them,  and 
by  a young  girl  whom  they  could  crush  with  im- 
punity. They  could  not  speak  for  very  shame; 
and  so,  creeping  backward,  step  by  step,  until  they 
stood  in  the  corridor.  Father  Francis  suddenly 
closed  the  door  and  bolted  it. 

Kate  was  now  a prisoner  at  the  mercy  of  her 
ruthless  captors.  She  would  have  to  pay  dearly 
yet  for  that  fiery  outburst,  for  the  natures  she  had 
defied  knew  neither  forgiveness,  pity,  nor  charity. 

For  several  days  she  was  kept  a close  prisoner 
in  her  cell,  her  scanty  meals  of  bread  and  water 
handed  to  her  through  a wicket  by  Sister  Bridget, 
an  old  lay  sister  who  had  passed  the  most  of  her 
days  as  a servant  in  the  convent. 

Kate  had  done  various  little  acts  of  kindness  in 
times  gone  by  to  Sister  Bridget,  and  now  one  day 
the  seed  sown  brought  forth  unexpected  fruit. 
On  this  day,  in  passing  in  her  loaf  of  stale  bread, 
Kate  saw  with  surprise  that  Sister  Bridget  pointed 
significantly  to  it  and  winked  in  a highly  myste- 
rious manner.  On  taking  the  loaf,  she  found  that 


SISTER  MARIE  FAINTS  AT  THE  BLACK  VEIL.  327 


a piece  had  been  taken  out  and  dexterously  fitted 
in  again,  and  that  in  the  depository  thus  made  a 
folded  piece  of  paper  was  concealed. 

With  wonder  and  surprise  she  drew  forth  this 
missive,  and  found  it  to  be  a closely  written  letter. 
But  her  heart  gave  a great  bound,  and  then  almost 
stood  still,  as  she  saw  the  name  appended  to  the 
sheet. 

It  was  that  of  her  lover,  the  man  she  had  never 
ceased  to  love,  — Michael  Lawler. 


CHAPTE,R  XXXI. 


mike’s  letter  to  KATE.  — STOLEN  INTERVIEW. 

For  a moment  Kate  could  not  summon  courage 
to  read  her  lover’s  letter.  A sudden  thrill  of  hope 
shot  through  her  heart.  She  was  not  utterly  de- 
serted, then,  after  all.  But  ah!  what  had  Father 
Leonard  said  to  her  about  Michael  Lawler?  Had 
she  not  promised  the  priest  to  hold  no  further 
communication  with  Michael  ? But  matters  were 
sadly  changed  since  that  promise  was  made. 
Leonard  had  been  deceived  about  the  convent : it 
was  not  what  he  had  represented  ; he  had  deceived 
her  in  not  visiting  her,  as  he  promised  to  do ; 
why  may  he  not  have  been  deceived  or  prejudiced 
concerning  her  lover? 

AYith  this  thousrht  working^  in  her  mind,  she  com- 
menced  to  read  the  letter.  Her  face  brightened 
as  she  read  on.  It  was  a long  letter,  filled  with 
the  most  ardent  protestations. 

Ah  I Michael's  tongue  was  a most  eloquent  one, 
as  Kate  well  knew  ; but  his  letter  was  even  more 
eloquent  than  his  tongue.  He  told  her  of  his  an- 
guish when  informed  by  Father  Leonard  that  she 
had  gone  to  a convent;  of  the  priest’s  and  her 


STOLEN  INTERVIEW. 


329 


relatives*  refusal  to  tell  him  where  she  was  ; of  his 
prolonged  search  for  her,  and  the  ecstatic  joy  he 
felt  upon  at  last  discovering  her  hiding-place. 
Then  he  confessed  with  humility  and  shame  how 
wicked  and  evil  his  life  had  been  until  he  tirst  saw 
and  learned  to  love  her. 

"Your  piuity,  your  gentleness  and  goodness,” 
the  letter  went  on  to  say,  "gave  me  another 
opinion  of  womankind  than  that  I had  held  all  my 
life.  I never  believed  in  angels  till  I knew  you, 
dearest  Kate.  You  first  showed  me  the  vileuess 
of  my  life,  and  I saw  with  horror  how  shameless 
that  life  had  been.  For  your  sake,  I am  a different 
man  to-day,  and  a better  one.  My  love  for  you 
has  redeemed  me.  I am  not  yet  a saint  indeed, 
but  you  have  it  in  your  power,  and  you  alone,  to 
keep  me  from  relapsing  into  my  old  wickedness. 
Oh,  listen  to  my  prayer,  my  darling ! Do  not 
take  from  me  the  very  sunlight  of  existence. 
You  are  mistaken  — I know  you  must  be  by  this 
time  — in  believing  that  God  has  ordained  you  for 
a religious  life.  All  religion,  all  goodness,  is  not 
shut  up  in  a convent.  The  world  needs  such  as 
you.  God  needs  you  to  do  a higher,  nobler  work 
than  to  mumble  'over  set  prayers,  count  beads, 
and  pass  half  your  days  in  mere  passive  idol- 
worship  before  a marble  virgin  or  the  wooden 
effigy  of  a saint.  That  is  not  religion,  my  dear- 


330 


mike’s  letter  to  KATE. 


est  Kate  ; it  is  in  very  truth  idolatry,  and  idolatry 
alone,  — what  the  poet  calls  'making  the  service 
greater  than  the  god.’  Listen,  then,  to  my  prayer, 
dearest.  Do  not  condemn  yourself,  do  not  con- 
demn me,  to  the  agony  of  an  eternal  separation. 
Trust  in  me,  believe  in  my  truth  and  honor,  and 
give  me  one  spark  of  hope  that  you  have  not  for- 
gotten and  abandoned  me  to  utter  wreck  and 
rum.” 

It  will  be  seen  by  this  letter  that  Michael  Lawler 
was  not  a very  devout  Catholic.  If  a Catholic  at 
all,  he  must  have  belonged  to  the  liberal  school. 

Such  words  and  expressions  would  have  shocked 
Kate  Ransom  a few  months  ago.  Now,  however, 
she  dimly  felt  their  truth.  Doubt  and  distrust  of 
her  religion,  to  a certain  extent,  had  been  sown 
in  her  mind  by  her  experience  at  the  Convent  of 
the  Bleeding  Heart. 

But  how  could  she  answer  this  impassioned 
appeal  ? What  answer  did  her  own  heart  dictate  ? 
If  Kate  Ransom  had  been  silly,  vain,  and  thought- 
less, instead  of  being  a modest,  high-minded,  and 
conscientious  girl,  she  would  not  have  hesitated  a 
single  moment  as  to  her  course.  She  would  have 
thrown  herself  at  once  into  Mike  Lawler’s  arms, 
rushi'd,  with  his  help,  from  that  convent,  and, 
perhaps,  yielded  to  love  everything  which  he  might 
have  solicited. 


STOLEN  INTERVIEW. 


331 


Conscience  and  her  high  sense  of  duty  made  the 
decision  a difficult  one.  At  last,  after  a long  and 
bitter  struofsrle,  Kate  concluded  to  write  Michael 
' a brief  note,  tellino:  him  nothins:  about  her  sulfer- 
ings,  but  forbidding  him  to  entertain  any  further 
hope. 

The  missive  was  cold,  formal,  even  harsh,  as 
Kate  herself  felt  after  she  had  given  it  to  Sister 
Bridofet.  Her  heart  smote  her  at  her  own  unkind- 
ness.  What  would  he  say,  how  feel,  when  he 
should  read  those  cruel  lines?  Oh,  if  she  could 
only  recall  them ! But  that  was  now  too  late. 
Sister  Bridget  had  hastened  away,  and  she  would 
nut  see  her  again  until  the  morrow. 

That  night  was  a night  of  bitter  agony  to  poor 
Kate.  She  was  still  a prisoner,  not  allowed  to 
cross  the  threshold  of  her  cell,  and  was  dail_y  vis- 
ited with  some  new  token  of  her  jailers’  displeas- 
ure. Oh,  why  had  she  responded  so  distantly  to 
her  lover’s  tender  appeal ! One  word  of  encour- 
agement from  her,  and  he  would  have  contrived  in 
some  way  to  free  her  from  captivity.  She  knew 
his  resolute  nature,  and  knew,  moreover,  that  love 
would  have  nerved  his  arm  to  tight  his  way  to  her, 
if  she  said  the  word,  even  through  the  fortress- 
like walls  of  the  Convent  of  the  Bleeding  Heart. 

She  tried  to  repeat  her  prayers  and  count  her 
beads,  but  it  seemed  all  a hollow  mockery  now ; 


332 


mike’s  letter  to  KATE. 


and  then  the  handsome,  earnest  face  of  Michael 
Lawler,  beseeching  her  to  save  him  by  her  love, 
would  obtrude  upon  her  mind,  forbidding  the 
concentration  of  thought  necessary  for  heartfelt 
prayer.  Like  Eloisa  of  old,  she  might  have  said 
of  her  Abelard,  — 

“ Thy  image  steals  between  my  God  and  me.” 

V 

When  Kate’s  answer  was  handed  to  Michael 
Lawler,  he  literally  trembled  with  delight. 

"So  my  'underground  railroad’  works  to  a 
charm,”  s.iid  he  to  himself.  "Now  if  it  will  only 
carry  me  as  successfully  into  the  Convent  of  the 
Bleeding  Heart,  I will  have  Kate  out  of  that  place 
in  a j illy.” 

But  as  he  perused  the  brief  missive,  his  face 
fell.  Never  was  lover  more  grievously  disap- 
pointed. Kate’s  words  seemed  the  death-kncdl  of 
his  hopes.  How  could  he  give  her  up?  He  might 
as  well  part  with  life  itself.  No,  he  would  not 
yield  at  the  first  rebuff.  He  would  make  one 
more  effort  to  win  her. 

Again  Sister  Bridget  attracted  Kate  Kansom’s 
attention  one  morning  by  a series  of  facial  contor- 
tions and  significant  winks,  as  she  passed  in  her 
daily  loaf  of  bread  through  the  wicket. 

As  before,  Kate  found  a note  from  her  persist- 
ent lover  concealed  inside  the  loaf.  It  was  a sor- 


STOLEN  INTERVIEW. 


333 


rowful,  heartbreaking  note,  in  which  the  writer 
seemingly  bowed  to  Kate’s  decision,  but  begged 
in  the  most  piteous  manner  for  a parting  interview. 
He  must  see  her  once  more,  he  said,  before  saying 
farewell  forever.  There  could  be  no  harm  and 
nothing  very  wrong  in  granting  his  prayer,  since 
she  was  under  no  vow  as  yet.  The  note  concluded 
by  detailing  how  the  interview  could  be  arranged, 
together  with  the  time  and  place,  if  she  would  only 
consent  to  meet  him. 

"Oh  ! what  can  he  be  thinking  of  ?”  said  Kate 
to  herself,  half  afraid,  yet  half  inclined  to  accede 
to  her  lover’s  request.  "How  can  I grant  him  this 
interview?  It  would  be  wrong,  very  wrong,  I 
fear.  And  then,  if  we  should  be  discovered,  what 
would  they  not  do  to  me?  But  oh,  to  see  him 
once  more ! To  say  farewell  for  the  last  time. 
O Michael!  Michael!  my  heart  pleads  for  you 
against  my  reason  and  against  my  conscience. 
Oh  ! I am  but  a [loor,  weak,  and  very  miserable 
girl.  Forgive  me.  Holy  Virgin,  if  I am  doing 
wrong.  Forgive  a poor  girl,  bereft  of  every  true 
friend  and  counsellor,  left  to  battle  alone  with  the 
dictates  of  a too  fond  and  erring  heart.  Forgive 
me,  I beseech  thee,  if,  in  seeing  once  more  the 
man  I love,  I sin  against  thee  !” 

The  risk  of  discovery,  the  danger  attending  such 
a daring  plan  as  Michael  Lawler  proposed,  might 
well  cause  much  hesitation  on  Kate’s  part. 


334 


mike’s  letter  to  KATE. 


But  love  pleaded  very  hard  in  the  young  girl’s 
heart.  She  yearned  so  to  see  his  dear  face  once 
more,  to  hear  the  tones  of  his  voice,  to  feel  the 
clasp  of  his  hand.  It  would  l)e  for  the  last  time 
in  life,  she  told  herself  again  and  again ; so  in 
the  end  nature  triumphed,  and  Michael  Lawler’s 
heart  was  made  glad  by  receiving  a favorable 
answer  to  his  petition. 

jMichael’s  plan  was  as  follows  : — 

At  midnight,  when  every  soul  within  the  con- 
vent would  probably  be  asleep,  Kate  was  to  be 
liberated  by  her  custodian,  the  lay  sister,  Bridget, 
and,  with  the  cowl  of  the  nun’s  costume  furnished 
by  the  latter  concealing  her  head  and  face,  would 
proceed  to  the  convent  chapel. 

Here,  where  tapers  were  always  kept  burning 
before  the  Virgin’s  shrine  for  those  nuns  who  might 
have  midnight  penances  or  voluntary  devotions  to 
pay,  Kate  would  kneel  for  a moment  before  the 
altar,  to  make  sure  that  no  one  was  watching.  If 
the  coast  was  clear,  she  would  then  make  her  way 
to  the  convent  grounds  where,  in  a secluded  place 
among  the  trees,  Michael  would  await  her  coming. 

It  was  indeed  a daring  adventure,  and,  consider- 
ing the  strictness  of  convent  rules,  the  constant 
watch  maintained,  and  the  seemingly  insurmount- 
al)le  obstacles  of  innumerable  locked  and  bolted 
doors,  seemed  wholly  impracticable. 


STOLEN  INTERVIEW. 


335 


But  it  is  an  old  adage  that  "love  laughs  at  lock- 
smiths,” defies  bolts  and  bars;  and  this  was  veri- 
fied in  the  present  case. 

Michael  Lawler  s love  had  made  all  things  smooth 
and  easy  for  Kate’s  progress.  She  reached  the 
convent  irrounds  without  the  least  obstruction.  As 
she  passed  out  of  the  last  door  and  stepped  upon 
the  soft  sward,  the  sudden  sense  of  freedom  was 
almost  overpowering. 

"Cribbed,  cabined,  aiid  confined,”  as  she  had 
been  for  many  weeks,  the  fresh  night  air  seemed 
like  medicine  to  her  sick  soul.  The  scent  of  the 
grass,  the  trees,  and  the  fragrance  of  many  flowers 
were  as  delicious  to  her  senses  as  the  honey  of 
Hybla.  The  muffled  sounds  of  night  fell  like 
broken  chords  of  sweet  melody  on  her  ear.  And 
over  all  was  the  deep  blue  of  a moonless  but 
starlit  sky,  while  the  grounds  stretched  away  on 
either  side,  misty  and  vague  with  shadow. 

Cautiously  crossing  the  garden,  keeping  as  much 
as  possible  in  the  shade  of  the  foliage,  Kate  at 
length  reached  a rustic  arbor  embowered  amidst 
trees.  This  was  the  spot  selected  for  the  meeting. 
As  she  approached,  the  figure  of  a man  advanced 
toward  her  with  eager  haste  and  with  outstretched 
arms. 

Her  heart  told  her  who  this  person  was  before 
she  could  distinguish  his  form  or  face. 


336 


mike’s  letter  to  KATE. 


" At  last,  my  darling  ! ” cried  Michael,  as,  taking 
her  hand,  he  drew  her  into  the  arbor.  " I have  been 
torturing  myselt  for  an  hour  [)ast  with  tlie  fear  that 
you  would  not  come.  O Kate  ! Kate  ! can  it  l)e 
jiossible  that  I behold  your  dear  face  once  more?” 
Ills  voice  trembled  with  emotion.  Kate  could 
not  reply  at  once.  At  last  she  said,  fiiintly,  — 
"Michael,  I know  I have  done  wrong  in  grant- 
ing this  interview.  It  was  unwise  in  you  to  seek 
it,  unwise  in  me  to  yield  to  your  solicitations.. 
Please  hasten  with  what  you  have  to  say,  and  let 
me  return : discovery  would  be  perilous  to  you, 
and  perilous  in  the  extreme  to  me.” 

" Perilous  !”  exclaimed  Michael.  "So  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  <iive  yourself  no  uneasiness,  dearest. 
But  what  could  they  do  to  you,  I should  like  to 
know?  I have  a poor  enough  opinion  of  convents, 
Kate,  but  I always  doubted  the  sensational  stories 
told  of  the  severities  practised  in  them.  As  a 
good  Catholic,”  — he  laughed  a little  sardonically, 
— "I  am  bound  to  disbelieve  such  tales,  and 
to  deny  them  in  toto” 

" I have  not  met  you  to  discuss  questions  of 
conventual  discipline,  Michael,”  answered  Kate, 
ev^asively ; but  her  tone  was  so  strange  and  con- 
strained that  her  lover  drew  closer  and  peered 
anxiously  into  her  face. 

He  saw  there  enough  to  startle  and  alarm  him. 


STOLEN  INTERVIEW. 


337 


Wjis  this  the  lovely  cheek,  glowing  with  health 
and  ha})piness,  the  clear,  bright  eye,  the  charm- 
ingly rounded  form  of  the  Kate  Ransom  he  had 
loved,  who  had  been  ruthlessly  snatched  away 
from  him  so  many  months  ago,  and  just  as  he  was 
about  to  claim  her  for  his  own? 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  horrified  and  indignant, 
as  he  saw  the  hollow  and  faded  visage,  the 
shrunken  arms  and  hands,  the  general  air  of 
intense  grief  and  despondency  which  seemed  to 
enshroud  the  young  girl  as  with  a visible  pall. 

"Father  in  heaven!  What  does  this  mean?” 
he  cried.  " My  poor,  poor  darling,  what  have 
they  done  to  you?  Have  they  dared  to  ill-treat 
you  in  this  shameful  way?  Leave  this  place! 
Fly  with  me  at  once  ! 1 have  everything  pre- 

pared for  flight.  Say  that  you  will  go  with  me, 
dearest  Kate.’* 

And  he  sought  to  draw  her  close  to  him  while 
speaking  in  an  earnest  and  entreating  tone.  Kate 
gently  but  firmly  extricated  herself  trom  his  clasp, 
and  said,  — 

"This  must  not  be,  Michael.  I came  here 
against  my  own  judgment,  to  gratify  your  wish. 
I was  over-persuaded  by  a weak  and  wicked  desire 
to  see  you  once  again, — to  see  you  for  the  last 
time,  Michael,  before  we  part  forever.” 

"Forever!”  echoed  the  young  man,  perfectly 
22 


338 


mike’s  letter  to  KATE. 


thunder-struck.  "You  do  not  mean  it,  Kate.  You 
cannot  be  so  cruel.  Are  you  indeed  so  infatuated 
that  you  have  decided  to  <:ive  up  life,  liberty,  hap- 
piness for  this  shining  but  deceitful  ignis  faluus  of 
convent  life?” 

"I  shall  follow  whithersoever  duty  and  con- 
science point  the  way,”  said  Kate,  sadly,  but  with 
firmness. 

"And  you  refuse  to  leave  the  convent?” 

Kate  bowed  her  head,  but  could  not  trust  her 
voice  to  speak. 

Michael  looked  at  her  as  though  he  could  hardly 
credit  his  senses. 

"You  do  not  love  me,  then,  after  all,”  he  said, 
bitterly.  " O Kate,  I could  not  believe  you 
would  stoop  to  deception  ; but  me  you  have  cru- 
elly, cruelly  deceived.  Why,  why,  may  I ask,” 
he  continued,  in  a tone  of  agonized  entreaty,  " why 
did  you  consent  to  see  me  ? Why  not  have  told  me 
at  once  that  you  had  ceased  to  love  me  ? ” 

Kate’s  heart  was  torn  by  contending  emotions. 
It  all  but  killed  her  to  hear  the  man  she  loved  cast 
these  doubts  upon  her  truth  and  fidelity.  Oh, 
how  she  longed  to  throw  herself  upon  his  breast, 
confess  how  dear  he  was  to  her,  and  bid  him  take 
her  now  and  forever  for  his  own  ! 

But  over  inclination  and  affection,  over  every 
purely  natural  instinct  and  feeling,  brooded  the 


STOLEN  INTERVIEW. 


339 


dark  shadow  of  a religions  superstition,  a super- 
stition which  taught  self-immolation  and  the  very 
"rindiim  of  the  soul  itself  under  its  Juix<yerntiut 
wheels,  as  the  first  and  last  duty  of  its  disciples.  . 

Tlie  fear  and  dread  of  a broken  oath  — the  oath 
given  to  Father  Leonard,  the  preliminary  vow 
taken  when  going  through  the  ceremony  of  the 
white  veil  — came  now  with  all  its  blio^hting  effect 
upon  the  young  girl’s  mind. 

"You  do  not  answer  me,”  said  Michael,  after 
waiting  vainly  for  her  to  speak.  " Ah  ! I see 
what  a dupe  I have  been.  I came  here  with 
hope.  Alas  ! I must  depart  in  despair.” 

Kate  involuntarily  held  out  her  hand  as  if  to 
stay  him,  for  he  had  turned  as  if  to  leave  her. 

"Do  you  bid  me  remain,  dearest  Kate?”  he 
cried,  eagerly,  flying  back  to  her  side. 

"Xo,  no,  Michael,”  she  answered,  flurriedly, 
hardly  knowing  in  her  distress  what  she  said  or 
did.  "Oh,  you  mast  leave  me  at  once  ! If  you 
have  one  spark  of  love  for  me,  depart,  and  leave 
me  to  my  fate.  This  — this  is  killing  me.  My 
strength  is  going : I — I cannot  endure  it  any 
longer.” 

"You  bid  me  leave  you,  then?”  said  Michael, 
in  a low,  agonized  tone. 

"Yes  — yes,”  gasped  Kate. 

"But  you  will  see  me  again,”  pleaded  the 


340 


mike’s  letter  to  KATE. 


young  man.  '’You  have  not  had  sufficient  time 
to  come  to  a decision.  Tell  me,  O my  dearest 
one,  that  you  will  see  me  once  more.” 

P>ut  Kate,  summoning  all  her  courage,  shook 
her  head  firmly. 

"No,”  she  said,  "my  decision  is  already  formed. 
I must  ol)ey  a higher  voice  than  any  of  earth.  Do 
not  seek  to  move  me  under  any  pretext.  A l>ar- 
rier  as  impassable  as  the  grave  separates  us  hence- 
forth. Michael,  we  part  on  this  spot  never  to 
meet  again  on  earth.” 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him ; but,  though  he 
clasped  it,  he  would  not  at  once  yield  to  her  decis- 
ion. In  tones  of  the  deepest  agony  he  implored 
and  besought  her  to  listen  further  to  him,  in  the 
hope  of  changing  her  mind  ; but  Kate  had  worked 
herself  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  resolution,  and 
his  effort s were  fruitless. 

Convinced  at  last  of  this  fact,  Michael  turned  sor- 
rowfully away.  He  was  crushed,  broken-hearted. 
Henceforth  for  himJJife  would  hold  out  no  further 
joy  or  hope  ; but  he  little  dreamed  what  a blank, 
deathlike  gloom  settled  upon  the  heart  of  poor 
Kate  as  she  watched  his  departing  form  till  it 
mingled  with  and  became  lost  amid  the  shadows 
of  the  night. 

When  at  last  she  could  see  him  no  longer,  she 
turned,  more  dead  than  alive,  and  retraced  her 
steps  to  her  desolate  cell. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


MARY  MULLIGAN  INSULTED  IN  THE  STREET. “GEN- 
TLEMAN MIKE  ” TO  THE  RESCUE. GRADUATE  OF  THE 

CRIB  CLUB  SEVERELY  PUNISHED.  KATE  RANSOM^  THE 

ANGEL  OF  MERCY. 

KAte  Ransom  goes  reluctantly  to  her  celh 
it  is  a lonely  cell,  and  she  is  disconsolate.  She 
obeys  the  Church’s  decree,  but  disobeys  God’s  de- 
cree, that  " it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone,” 
man  needs  a helpmeet,  so  does  woman.  When 
two  young  hearts  meet  whose  impulses  are  as  one, 
they  should  be  married. 

She  had  overheard  the  good  Father  Leonard 
decry  against  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy,  why  not 
of  nuns?  But  she  yields  ; and  bolts,  and  bars,  and 
convent  walls  once  more  shut  her  in  from  the  out- 
side world.  Not  so  her  mind.  She  reverts  to 
Mike  Lawler.  What  had  she  not  lost  by  refusing 
his  heart  and  his  hand  ? Why  not  the  twain  be- 
come one  flesh  ? 

True,  he  might  relapse  into  his  former  evil 
habits,  might  prove  treacherous  and  unkind  even 
if  she  married  him.  Then  what  hope  for  her  ou 
earth  ? Her  family  would  discard  her  for  break- 


342  KATE  RANSOM,  THE  ANGEL  OF  MERCY. 

ing  her  vow,  the  Church  pronounce  its  anathemas, 
society  disown^her,  and  possibly  she  might  sink  as. 
low  as  Mary  Mulligan  did  under  the  delusion  of  a 
mock  marriage,  with  her  illegitimate  offspring. 

But  there  is  no  triumph  without  a struggle,  no 
prize  without  a corresponding  risk.  Marriage  is 
the  lottery  of  life.  If  she  succeeded  in  reclaiming 
Mike  Lawler,  in  making  him  an  honest,  upright, 
happy,  Christian  man,  she  saves  a lost  soul  and 
blesses  this  wicked  world  by  the  example  of  his 
reclamation  and  redemption. 

What  could  be  more  God-like,  Christ-like, 
angel-like,  saint-like  than  giving  one’s  self  as  a 
ransom  for  the  lost ! Her  name  was  " Eansom,” 
she  might  sacrifice  that  name  on  the  altar  of  man’s 
redemption,  and  not  only  win  a soul  from  death,  but 
win  for  herself  a crown  of  immortal  glory.  Tre- 
mendous the  risk  ! Terrible  the  leap  ! Still  the 
prize  might  be  worth  the  venture. 

Such  were  the  mu  sings  and  reveries  of  Kate 
Kansom  in  her  cloister  cell.  Walls  and  bars  did 
not  hold  her  imagination,  her  will,  her  mind;  for 
her  thoughts  were  still  free.  Love  was  her  ruling 
passion,  sacrifice  her  ideal  of  woman’s  duty.  One 
touch  of  the  hand,  one  gentle  kiss,  one  sweet  look 
from  the  man  she  loved,  had  aroused  all  the  flames 
of  her  early  affection.  Bead-counting  and  scapu- 
lars were  now  at  a discount. 


MART  MULLIGAN  INSULTED  IN  THE  STREET.  343 


Meanwhile  Michael  Lawler  had  left  the  convent 
grounds  with  sorrowful  countenance  and  "'bleed- 
ing heart.”  All  his  hopes  and  feelings,  all  his 
aspirations  for  a better,  higher,  more  spiritual 
life,  all  his  anticipations  of  connubial  bliss,  all  his 
society  prospects,  all  the  buds  of  hope  and  promise 
of  a sacred,  joyous  home,  wife,  children,  pleasure, 
— all  were  crushed  at  a single  blow.  Kate  Kan- 
som  had  refused  him  at  last. 

That  beautiful  girl,  a bird  of  fair  plumage, 
happy  song,  lively,  dancing  step,  gentle,  angel- 
like,  protecting  wing,  and  sweetest  melody,  had 
refused  at  last  to  take  flight  from  her  prison-cage 
for  the  free  air  of  heaven,  and  for  the  companion- 
ship of  one  that  loved  her,  — loved  her  both  wisely 
and  well ; yea,  loved  her  better  than  his  own  soul, 
for  his  unhappy  life  was  now  but  a blackening 
shadow  and  a dreaiy  blank. 

All  his  future  happiness  and  success  in  life  he 
had  staked  on  that  fatal  interview,  and  he  had  lost, 
sadly  lost,  as  in  a pitched  battle  or  a game  of 
chance.  All  he  could  now  repeat  was  Father 
Leonard’s  sarcastic,  piercing,  rueful  ominous 
word,  "Farewell!” 

" Farewell!  ” echoed  in  every  midnight  sound. 
The  night  winds  whispered  it ; the  wheels  of  his 
carriage  spoke  it ; his  horses  breathed  it ; and 
through  the  thicket  towards  his  home  the  startled 


344  KATE  RANSOM,  THE  ANGEL  OF  MERCY. 

birds,  driven  from  their  resting-place,  seemed  to 
shriek  a hitter  and  long  Farewell.”  And  the 
croaking  of  the  turtles  and  the  frogs  in  the  swamps 
and  ponds,  usually  so  full  of  joy  and  cheer  at 
spring-tide  bloom,  now  gave  but  sad  echoes  of 
his  own  despair.  The  twinkung  stars  whispered 
Farewell”;  and  the  red  tinge  of  daylight  lining 
the  eastern  sky  foreboded  nothing  but  evil ; and 
the  glorious  King  of  Day,  soon  to  baptize  this 
beautiful  world  with  "azure,  green,  and  gold,”  was 
to  him  but  a mockery  of  hope,  a delusion,  and  a 
dread.  His  lacerated  soul  best  accorded  with  the 
shades  of  Erebus,  the  gloom  of  night,  and  of 
death.  " Oh  ! I shall  never  see  her  more  ! ” was 
his  piteous  cry. 

This  feeling  of  despair  continued  for  several 
days,  when,  one  night,  returning  from  his  hither’s 
liquor  store  at  the  North  End,  he  saw,  as  he 
thought,  an  opportunity  to  do  a heroic  deed,  and 
drown  his  sorrows.  Mary  Mulligan  was  being 
insulted  in  the  street.  A gan^  of  roughs  were 
hooting  at  her,  taunting  her  on  account  of  her 
peculiar  condition,  calling  for  the  needs  of  a 
lying-in  hospital,  when  Mike  Lawler,  burning 
with  his  Catholic  education  and  experience  at  the 
pugilistic  Crib  Club,  fired  with  a zeal  to  exhibit 
his  manly  art  of  head-bruising  and  nose-smashing, 
drew  ofl:'  and  struck  one  of  the  crowd. 


MARY  MULLIGAN  INSULTED  IN  THE  STREET.  345 


Alas ! for  Gentleman  Mike ! The  manly  art 
was  but  a curse  and  a snare.  The  tempta- 
tion nearly  cost  him  his  life.  For  one  blow 
given,  he  received  a dozen,  was  knocked  sense- 
less to  the  earth,  when  the  roughs  fled  and  es- 
caped. Mary  Mulligan  was  taken  to  the  House 
of  the  iVIagdalenes,  and  Mike  Lawler,  wounded 
and  bleeding,  to  his  home.  Fever  set  in  ; he  lay 
day  after  day  rolling  and  moaning  upon  his  rest- 
less couch,  crying  in  his  fits  of  delirium,  "No  ! 
no  ! I shall  never,  never  see  my  darling  girl, 
Kate  Ransom,  again  ! ” 

Again  he  said,  "Ah!  yes,”  Tvith  a sigh,  "the 
church  needs  her,  heaven  needs  her,  she  will  make 
one  more  saint  on  earth,  one  more  in  heaven,  but 
— but  ah  I me  I what  becomes  of  poor,  poor  Mike 
Lawler  ? ” And  the  big  tears  fell  like  rain  from 
eyes  scarcely  known  to  weep. 

"Has  she  come?  Did  I see  her?  No!  no  I 
It  was  but  a dream,”  he  cried,  as  he  awoke  from 
a fitful  doze.  "Only  a dream,  nothing  more,  yet 
such  a dream ! Ah  ! the  sweet  dream  of  her  1 
love  is  the  nearest  to  heaven  of  all  things  on  earth 
to  me.  O Kate  ! Kate  ! my  absent  Kate  ! if  you 
but  knew  what  a benefactor,  a savior  you  might 
be  to  your  poor,  wounded  suitor,  wdiat  hope  3'our 
presence  would  inspire,  — but  ah  ! that  can  never 
be,  no  never!  never!  Why  do  I speak?  She  is 


346  KATE  RANSOM,  THE  ANGEL  OF  MERCY. 

gone,  lost,  forever  lost.”  And  his  agony  and 
despair  were  beyond  control. 

Physicians  feel  his  pulse,  nurses  bring  medicinal 
cordials  to  his  parched  lips,  fan  his  aching  brow, 
and  lave  his  fevered  brain.  His  wounds  t*nd 
bruises  are  painful, — almost  unbearable, — but 
his  mental  agony,  his  grief  and  despair,  are  tenfold 
more  unendurable. 

Word  by  underground  railroad  has  once  more 
been  sent  to  Kate  Kansom  in  the  Convent  of  the 
Bleeding  Heart.  A carriage  and  change  of 
dress,  with  money  for  bribes,  have  been  placed  in 
readiness.  Will  she  accept?  His  distress,  an- 
guish, and  despair  are  graphically  portrayed. 
Will  she  yield?  Will  she  fly  to  his  side?  Will 
she  marry  him  on  his  sick-bed  before  he  dies? 

Kate  Ransom  received  the  secret  missive  in  a 
tumult  of  conflicting  emotions.  Whether  to  re- 
main confined  here,  useless  to  the  world,  a slave 
of  superstitious  worship,  and  a slave  of  her  op- 
IDressors,  or  to  leap  to  the  bedside  of  the  dying, 
assume  the  heroic,  and  be  the  means  of  saving  a 
lost  soul,  — that  was  the  question. 

Now,  Mike  Lawler  is  sinking  rapidly ; friends 
are  refused  admission  ; a single  nurse  watches  by 
his  side.  Now  and  then  in  a fitful  rally  from  the 
opiates  his  eyes  open,  they  glare  as  if  watching 
some  fanciful  object  above  his  couch,  his  lips 


MARY  MULLIGAN  INSULTED  IN  THE  STREET.  347 


move,  lie  clinches  his  hands,  clasps  them  to  his 
breast  as  if  in  embrace  of  his  idol,  then  stops, 
pauses,  and  cries  in  utter  despair,  " Oh,  no  ! it  is 
not  my  love,  it  cannot  be,  for  she  would  speak  to 
me  in  this  my  utter  distress  and  anguish.”  And 
again  he  falls  off  in  a doze. 

Again  he  dreams,  and  his  visions  go  back  to  the 
church  of  his  boyhood,  when  imaginations  were 
strong,  and  impressions  were  lasting.  He  dreams 
of  the  holy  sisters  who  minister  to  the  afflicted. 
With  cross  in  hand,  in  dark  habits  and  white 
cowls  they  minister  from  bed  to  bed  to  the  sick  in 
hospitals,  to  the  friendless,  the  wayward,  the  dying, 
and  the  lost. 

" Oh,  I am  lost ! lost ! ” he  cries,  "yet  I have  no 
Sister  of  Mercy  ! No  hope,  no  heaven  ! ” And 
again  he  sank  back  in  despair. 

At  this  moment  a sister  in  the  garb  of  a convent 
novitiate  entered  his  bedchamber,  and  bending 
over  him  as  an  angel  of  mercy  over  the  dying,  she 
gently  whispered  in  his  ear,  "Michael ! Michael ! ” 

But  the  poor  wounded,  half-unconscious  man 
could  only  respond,  "No  ! no  ! that  is  not  for  me, 
no  one  calls  me  anything  but  ' Mike  Lawler.’  ” 
And  he  turned  his  woe-begone  face  to  the  wall  in 
despair. 

" Michael ! Michael ! ” again  whispered  a sweet 
female  form  with  white  hood  upon  the  head,  bend- 


348  KATE  RANSOM,  THE  ANGEL  OF  MERCY. 

ing  over  him.  She  was  indeed  an  Angel  of  ]\Iercy 
coming  by  the  appointment  of  heaven  to  minister 
words  of  consolation  and  hope  to  a lost  soul. 

”i\lichael!  Michael!  I have  come,  I have  left 
all,  forsaken  everything  for  you.  Speak  I do  you 
know  me  ? ” And  she  pressed  his  forehead  and 
printed  a familiar  kiss  upon  his  cheek.  Ah ! 
that  kiss  would  awaken  response  from  any  other 
soul ; but  Mike  Lawler  was  too  ill  to  respond. 
" My  dear,  dear  Michael  ! may  God  bless  you, 
and  forgive  you,  don’t  you  recognize  me?  Me, 
your  own  dear  Kate  Ransom  I ” 

Mike  Lawler,  in  semi-consciousness,  slowly 
opened  his  dim  eyes  to  the  vision  before  him, 
scarcely  knowing  whether  he  was  in  the  body  or 
out,  whether  on  earth  or  in  heaven. 

" Speak,  Michael ! Don’t  you  know  me  ? ” 

Mike  gazed,  half  hopeful,  half  in  doubt,  in  sus- 
pense, and  surprise  upon  the  sweet,  smiling,  tear- 
ful face  of  Kate  Ransom,  the  hooded  novitiate, 
whose  two  eyes  were  looking  into  his.  At  last 
roused  to  the  ecstasy  of  the  situation,  with  the 
name  of  " Kate  Ransom  ” ringing  in  his  ear,  he  cried 
aloud,  " O Katie  I my  darling  ! my  angel ! is  it  you, 
dear?  Have  you  come?  How  did  you  escape? 
1 dreamed  of  you,  my  darling.  I dreamed  we 
had  met  in  heaven.  Oh ! how  can  I thank  you 
for  making  this  great  sacrifice  for  poor  un- 


MARY  MULLIGAN  INSULTED  IN  THE  STREET.  349 


worthy  me?”  And  he  strove  to  eml)race  her  as 
in  times  past,  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  delight,  but 
his  strength  failed  him. 

"Your  face  is  as  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  to 
me,”  he  continued;  "your  eyes  as  the  light  of  a 
liright,  spring  morning.”  And  he  crossed  himself 
and  gave  God  thanks,  for  seeing  once  more  the 
object  of  his  love. 

The  diseased  mind  of  Mike  Lawler  was  at  once 
and  forever  cured.  From  that  moment  he  was 
lifted  into  a hi«fher,  nobler  manhood.  A hiofher 
state  of  life,  new  spiritual  enjoyments,  and  a new 
kingdom  dawned  within  him.  A humanizing, 
Christianizing,  ennobling  influence,  the  influence 
of  a pure  and  holy  woman,  carried  him  into  the 
beatitudes. 

An  Episcopal  minister  was  called  to  his  bed- 
side to  perform  the  marriage  rite.  lie  said, 
"AVilt  thou,  jNIichael  Lawler,  have  this  woman, 
Catharine  Ransom,  for  thy  wedded  Avife,  to  live 
together,  after  God’s  ordinance,  in  the  holy  state 
of  matrimony?  AATlt  thou  love  her,  comfort  her, 
honor  and  keep  her  in  sickness  and  m health, 
and,  forsaking  all  others,  keep  thee  only  unto 
her,  as  long  as  ye  both  shall  live?” 

Poor  Mike  Lawler,  bowing  his  head,  assented, 
and,  grasping  the  hand  of  Kate  Ransom  Avith  all 
the  vigor  his  feeble  health  could  command,  re- 


350  KATE  RANSOM,  THE  ANGEL  OF  MERCY. 

sponded,  will.”  And  Kate  Ransom  said,  ”I 
will.”  And  Michael  Lawler,  placing  a ring  upon 
the  fourth  huger  of  the  left  hand  of  his  bride,  re- 
peating from  the  minister,  said : "With  this  ring 
I thee  wed,  and  with  all  my  worldly  goods  1 thee 
endow,  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son, 
and  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  Amen.” 

Father  Leonard  vvas  soon  upon  the  scene.  He 
had  heard  of  Mike’s  hght  and  wounds  by  Billy  the 
Kid  and  Pat  Mooney,  and  of  Father  Keenan’s  ef- 
forts as  a peacemaker,  but  was  not  a little  astonished 
to  hnd  that  the  beautiful  sin^rino^  bird  he  had  ca«:ed 
had  now  not  only  taken  flight,  but  had  happily 
and  anti-Catholically  mated. 

His  anger  was  kindled  to  the  highest  pitch. 
"Priest  first,  priest  last,  priest  everywhere,  always, 
and  forever,”  was  his  doctrine.  Patriotism,  hu- 
manity, religion,  and  self-consciousness  must  be 
sunk  and  lost  in  the  person  of  the  priest.  Catho- 
lic malignity  to  the  American  idea,  war  of  the 
oligarchy  upon  liberty  of  conscience,  civil  mar- 
riage, and  divorce,  free  thought,  free  press,  and 
free  schools,  now  become  apparent. 

Father  Leonard  is  the  head  centre  of  the  parish- 
school  system,  a system  which  is  soon  to  shake 
the  American  fabric,  and  test  republican  institu- 
tions. Let  us  wait,  " we  shall  see  what  we  shall 
see.” 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


HOUSE  OP  THE  MAGDALENES. MARY  MULLIGAN  REBEL- 
LIOUS.   EXPOSES  FATHER  KEENAN. 

On  a bend  in  the  road  of  one  of  our  most  noted 
tliorouofhfares,  almost  concealed  amidst  trees,* 
shrubl)eiy,  and  high  walls,  is  a small  cottage  ; no^ 
sign  of  human  being,  no  cross  over  the  door,  one^ 
might  suppose  it  the  modest  home  of  some  secluded 
horticulturist  stud3dng  his  flowers,  trees,  and 
])lants ; and  while  there  is  everything  in  the  exte- 
rior to  remind  one  of  Arcadian  siiuplicity,  the 
unfortunate  inmate  crossing  its  portals  might  say 
with  Dante  "All  hope  abandon  ye  who  enter  here.” 

A"et  this  humble  wooden  cottage  is  like  the  ves-] 
tibule  to  a gi*eat  cemetery,  with  wicket  gates  and 
bars  openrng  to  wide  acres  and  hundreds  of  sorrow- 
in^r  souls.  Here  is  the  institution  called  " House 

O 

of  the  Magdalenes.”  Its  chief  founder  and  con- 
fessor was  none  other  than  Father  Titus,  hero  of 
" Boston  Irrside  Out.”  His  picture  is  kept  with 
gr’eat  reverence  and  still  adorns  the  wall.  He 
was  confessor  not  only  to  the  inruates,  but  to  the 
lad}^  superior  her’self,  of  whom  there  was  some 
scandal,  but  probably  unfounded.  These  supe- 
riors have  generally  been  young  and  handsome ; 
Titus  always  chose  that  class. 


352 


MARY  MULLIGAN  REBELLIOUS. 


He  saw  the  need  of  a refuge  for  priestly  victims 
and  others  of  high  families  where  concealment 
was  necessary ; besides,  it  would  l)e  a paying 
investment.  Acres  and  acres,  with  gardens  and 
pasture  lands,  right  in  the  heart  of  a large  city, 
increasing  in  value  yearly,  yet  paying  no  taxes, 
was  an  item.  As  most  of  the  inmates  pay  board, 
parents  give  donations,  and  $10,000  a year  are 
won  by  lotteries,  concerts,  and  balls,  tickets 
largely  purchased  by  Protestants,  besides  gifts 
from  the  State,  the  thing  pays. 

But  better  than  its  financial  policy  is  the  advan- 
tage of  this  refuge  as  a preventative  of  church 
scandal.  Here  victims  can  be  hid  unseen,  names 
and  identity  lost,  no  inquiry  permitted.  Here 
punishments  may  be  inflicted  and  nobody  be  the 
wiser.  Premature  mothers  may  die  and  be  buried, 
and  relatives  kept  in  ignorance.  Children  be 
conceived,  liorn,  and  die,  and  the  world  and  the 
mortuary  records  at  City  Hall  have  no  knowledge 
of  their  deaths. 

When  fair  maidens  at  the  confessional  become 
infatuated  with  handsome  priests,  believing  them 
perfect  as  the  angels,  God’s  vicegerents,  able  to 
bind  or  to  loose,  incapable  of  sin,  then  their  indi- 
viduality is  lost;  their  will,  conscience,  and  reason 
are  absorlied  in  the  priest. 

The  whole  heart,  what  there  is  left  of  it,  is  open 


HOUSE  OF  THE  MAGDALENES. 


353 


to  his  gaze  ; not  a secret  kept  l)ack  ; not  a desire  ; 
not  a sensual  longing ; not  a lust  of  the  eye  or  of 
the  flesh  ; now  a resistance  ; now  a yielding  ; now 
a craving  of  nature,  and  then  for  priestly  advice. 
As  a pocket-handkerchief,  her  heart  is  unfolded 
and  laid  open  in  his  hand ; he  can  hold  it,  keep  it, 
or  turn  it  into  a hundred  shapes,  and  give  it  to 
whom  he  will.  To  a priest  of  common  passions 
the  confessional  is  a temptation  the  most  insidious 
on  earth. 

Mormonism,  free-lovism,  do  not  compare  with 
it.  They  are  open  and  above-board.  Their  hid- 
eousness is  seen  at  a orjance.  But  here,  throu«:h 
the  power  of  the  confessional,  in  the  name  of  abso- 
lution, penance,  and  plenary  indulgence,  a virus  is 
planted  that  poisons  all  the  social  fabric ; hence 
Catholic  countries  are  the  most  licentious,  and  for 
producing  harlots,  American  Catholic  cities  take 
the  palm. 

Hence  the  need  of  Magdalene  homes  as  well  as 
of  State  institutions.  Were  there  not  hiding- 
places  in  all  large  cities  for  both  priest  and 
victim,  and  for  the  victims  places  held  by  gates 
and  bars,  guarded  by  sentinels,  whose  sealed  lips, 
by  oath  of  priest,  divulge  not,  even  to  law  or  jus- 
tice ; places  of  gloom  and  horror  shrouded  from 
every  human  eye  ; places  from  whose  dark  cells 
not  a whispering  murmur  dare  penetrate  through' 


354 


MARY  MULLIGAN  REBELLIOUS. 


cloistered  walls  and  reach  the  street,  under  pain 
of  excommunication  and  eternal  death ; if,  in 
short,  the  crimes  of  the  Itoman  Catholic  priesthood, 
both  political  and  sexual,  were  laid  bare,  then  the 
church  could  not  hold  up  its  head  for  a single  day. 
Public  indignation  would  be  aroused  to  as  high  a 
pitch  as  that  which  forever  swept  from  the  face  of 
earth  the  Ursuline  Convent  on  Mount  Benedict. 

Nothing  but  sworn  secrecy,  Jesuitical  oaths, 
monopoly  of  secret  societies  in  the  church,  bitter 
war  against  all  other  secret  orders,  war  against 
free  schools,  absolute  priestly  tyrannical  rule,  can 
hold  the  church  to-day  against  the  public  demand 
for  reform.  Let  genuine  democracy  prevail  in 
the  church  a single  year,  intelligence,  wealth, 
self-respect,  public  spirit,  and  assurance  would  go 
up  a hundred  per  cent,  while  crime,  pauperism, 
intemperance,  tramps,  beggars,  street  beggary, 
both  from  big  sisters  and  "little  sisters,”  taxes, 
and  liquor  shops  would  decrease  in  like  ratio. 
Public  opinion  would  demand  industry,  Quaker 
thrift,  law,  and  order. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  Father  Titus  is  held  in 
reverence  by  those  who  look  not  at  his  crimes,  not 
at  his  amours,  but  at  his  deeds  for  the  glory  of  the 
church.  "Priests  are  privileged,”  they  say.  What 
though  he  spent  a few  hundred  thousand  dollars  of 
the  people’s  money  in  riotous  living,  yet  he  built 


HOUSE  OF  THE  MAGDALENES. 


355 


more  churches,  established  more  institutions,  gave 
more  to  charity,  than  any  other  priest,  or  perhaps 
any  dozen  priests,  of  the  archdiocese.  His  re- 
deeming qualities  made  him  the  more  dangerous 
to  the  American  idea. 

Let  us  enter  the  House  of  the  Magdalenes.  In 
one  of  the  underground  cells  we  shall  find  poor 
Mary  Mulligan.  Here  she  has  been  placed  on  ac- 
count of  rebellious  behavior,  and  for  refusing  to 
make  confession  to  the  chaplain.  She  has  been 
subjected  to  many  indignities,  and  for  food  is  only 
allowed  bread  and  water,  to  make  her  submit. 
But  a long  course  of  deprivation  has  hardened  the 
girl  to  resist  even  famine,  and  as  yet  she  has  no 
thought  of  submission. 

” Who  sent  me  here  ? I did  n’t  ask  to  come  ! ” 
said  Mary  Mulligan  to  the  nun  in  attendance. 

" You  were  found  on  the  street  in  a swoon.  As 
it  was  said  you  were  a Catholic,  you  were  con- 
veyed to  this  house  of  refuge  for  the  fallen  and 
unfortunate.” 

" Well,  I’ve  been  unfortunate  enough,  if  that  is 
all.  Placed  here  against  my  will,  treated  like  a 
dog,  and  given  nothing  to  eat  or  drink  but  bread 
and  water.” 

"But  that  was  because  you  refused  to  obey  the 
rules  You  spoke  harshly  of  the  Catholic  religion, 
boasted  that  you  had  thrown  away  your  beads  and 


356 


MARY  MULLIGAN  REBELLIOUS. 


scapulars,  and  refused  to  make  confession  to  the 
chaplain.” 

" So  3^ou  employ  force  to  make  3^our  inmates 
good  Catholics.  Supposing  I was  not  a Catholic^” 

"Then  you  would  be  placed  in  a city  institution 
or  a Protestant  asylum.  But  you  were  known  to 
be  a Catholic ; hence  you  were  placed  here  for 
reformation.” 

"Well,  I haven’t  much  to  thank  Catholics  for. 
I was  tricked  into  a mock  marriage  by  a Catholic, 
then  abandoned  to  a life  of  shame.  In  my  desper- 
ation, I had  no  other  chance.  Nobody  would  em- 
ploy me  at  honest  work.  I was  alone,  hopeless, 
friendless,  wretched.” 

" But  you  should  have  gone  to  your  father  con- 
fessor for  aid  and  sjmipathy.” 

"Go  to  a Catholic  priest  for  aid,  for  s^^mpathy? 
]\Iy  present  plight  Avas  caused  by  a pjriest.  ” 

" Horrors  ! ” 

" I swear  it  is  God’s  truth.  I have  been  his  mis- 
tress for  a year.  I had  reformed,  Avas  leading  a 
Avorthy  life,  or  trying  to,  when  he  tempted  me 
and  again  I fell.” 

" Who  is  this  priest,  this  bad  shepherd?  ” 

"I  dare  not  tell  you.” 

" But  you  must  tell  me.  Oh,  what  a sinful  world  ! 
Who  is  he?  Tell  me  quick.  Speak  I say.” 

"Well,  if  I must,”  ansAvered  the  Magdalene,  " his 
name  is  Father  Keenan.’* 


HOUSE  OF  THE  MAGDALENE S. 


357 


Father  Keenan  I Father  Keenan  ! ” exclaimed 
Sister  Monica,  astounded  at  the  revelation. 

And  the  Magdalene  nodded  assent. 

O 

*'Oh,  heaven  forbid!”  cried  the  nun,  almost 
frantic  Avith  grief.  ” When  I Avas  gay  and  in  the 
Avorld,  I kneAV  him.  I Avas  born  and  brought  up 
under  the  shadoAV  of  his  church.  From  him  I 
learned  my  first  catechism  lessons  ; and  oh,  if  ever 
there  lived  a saint  upon  earth.  Father  Jerome 
Keenan  Avas  one.  No,  no,  you  cannot  mean  this 
holy  priest  of  God  I ” 

MJth  a contemptuous  look  at  the  nun,  Mary 
ansAvered,  "But  I tell  you  it  is  only  too  true. 
And  he  drove  me  to  it,”  she  continued,  Avith  \^ehe- 
mence.  " Before  my  God  and  heaven,  I SAvear  that 
I AATis  trying  to  lead  a pure  and  holy  life.  He, 
this  'holy  priest  of  God,’  as  you  call  him,  came 
and  found  me.  I had  knoAvn  him  in  my  early 
troubles  Avith  Sam  Skillins,  had  knelt  at  his  feet 
and  begged  and  prayed  for  pardon  and  forgiA^e- 
ness  for  my  sins.  Oh,  Avould  to  God  that  I had 
knoAvn  then  as  much  of  the  Avorld  and  its  Avays  as  I 
do  noAv  1 I Avon  Id  not  be  an  outcast,  shunned  by 
society  as  the  lepers  Avere  of  old.  ^Vell,  so  this 
religious  libertine  led  me  on  and  on.  He,  a priest, 
forgiving  the  sins  of  others,  }^et  needing  confes- 
sion more  than  any  of  us.  One  night  he  came  to 
me,  and,  although  deep  down  in  sin,  I received 


358 


MARY  MULLIGAN  REBELLIOUS. 


him  with  that  Avarm  love  for  a priest  which  my 
mother  had  i)lanted  in  my  heart.  I had  beard  of 
his  sins,  also,  and  pitied  him.  Little  did  I think 
I Avas  to  be  caught  in  the  tempter’s  snare.  With 
his  suave  manner  and  oily  tongue  I was  entangled 
in  the  meshes.  He  told  me  of  the  hardships  of  a 
celibate’s  life.  No  children  to  cheer  the  heart 
after  the  day’s  hard  labor  Avas  o’er.  No  loving 
Avife  to  soothe  the  troubled  mind  in  its  cares  and 
vexations  of  life  and  Avhisper  cheering  Avords  of 
encouragement  and  hope  ; and  more  he  told  me. 

^'Bah,”  she  added,  "it  sickens  me  even  noAV  to 
think  hoAv  easily  I Avas  duped  ! Then  he  told  me 
the  poAver  he  had  received  at  ordination  to  forgive 
sins,  even  the  most  grievous  ones,  'Though  they 
be  as  red  as  scarlet,  I shall  make  them  Avhiter 
than  snoAV.’  With  my  religious  nature  aroused  to 
the  highest  pitch,  simple,  innocent,  trusting,  I sub- 
mitted ; it  Avas  the  ste}:)ping-stone  to  the  old  life. 
You  knoAv  the  rest.” 

All  this  time  the  nun  had  stood  listening  in  an 
attentive  manner,  and  noAV,  Avhen  the  recital  of  woe 
Avas  over,  she  came  forAA^ard  as  if  to  say  something, 
but  her  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth.  The 
objects  in  the  little  cell  seemed  to  SAvim  before  her 
gaze,  and  she  fell  forward  on  the  hard  pallet  be- 
side the  Magdalene.  The  story  of  such  Avrong- 
doing  had  been  too  much  for  her  sensitive  nerves, 


HOUSE  OF  THE  MAGDALENES. 


359 


for,  although  she  was  in  the  world,  she  was  not  of 
it,  and  knew  little  or  nothing  of  its  sinful  doings. 

j\Iary  gazed  upon  the  pure,  angelic  face  with 
a cold,  indifferent  stare  and  made  no  effort  to  bring 
the  nun  to  consciousness.  Her  contact  with 
Catholic  rcligieuses,  her  knowledge  of  their  doings 
in  secret,  of  their  hypocrisy  before  the  world, 
and  tinally  her  liaison  with  an  ordained  priest, — 
driven  into  it  by  his  solicitations,  — had  hardened 
her  heart ; it  was  now  hard  as  steel.  She  did  not 
discriminate.  • She  did  not  think  that  among  this 
class  there  were  some  good  and  noble  souls,  and 
when  the  nun  fell  in  the  swoon  she  did  not  rise  to 
help  her,  for  a woman’s  sympathy  had  taken  its 
departure  from  her  breast. 

How  long  Sister  Monica  lay  there  she  knew 
not,  for  she  had  been  lost  to  sense,  to  time  and 
place.  Oh,  the  agony  of  her  soul  when  slowly 
returning  to  consciousness  I 

”Oh,  what  have  I not  lost;  too  late  now,  too 
late.  I have  ‘given  the  best  years  of  my  life  to 
the  service  of  the  holy  Church.  I have  forsaken 
parents,  home,  kindred,  friends,  to  devote  myself 
to  the  holy  religion.  Oh,  mother  dear  ; oh,  father, 
why  did  I not  heed  your  warning  voices  ; but  I 
thought  you  prejudiced,  I thought  you  bigoted 
against  the  Catholic  Church.  I see  it  all  plain 
now ; too  late,  too  late ! I have  cast  from  me 


360 


MARY  MULLIGAN  REBELLIOUS. 


wealth,  position,  social  ambition,  to  become  a ser- 
vant at  thy  altar,  oh  my  God, — poor  as  the  poor- 
est, lowly  as  the  lowliest,  humble  as  the  humblest. 
I was  infatuated,  carried  away  in  the  whirlpool  of 
religious  enthusiasm.  I thought  the  Church  so 
grand,  its  teachings  so  ennobling,  its  ministers  so 
good,  so  true,  so  jiure  and  holy.  Oh,  the  sacri- 
fices I have  made  ! Oh,  the  prayers  I have  said 
kneeling  on  these  cold  stones,  in  daytime  or  night, 
in  summer’s  heat  and  winter’s  bitter  cold,  praying 
for  these  })oor  and  unfortunate  ones,  doing  vica- 
rious penance  for  their  sins,  holding  up  the  cross 
of  hope  and  penance  to  their  perishing  souls, 
cheering  them  in  their  despondency,  and  striving 
to  laise  them  nearer  to  the  throne  of  purity  and 
light ! I never  shudderd  nor  drew  back  from  the 
task  Avhen  1 saw  the  scum  of  this  great  city  pour- 
ing in  here.  I never  dared  believe  that  many  of 
the  unfortunates  were  the  victims  of  the  priests  I 
thought  immaculate,  until  I heard  from  the  lips  of 
an  outcast  the  tale  of  her  shame  with  my  old  and 
honored  confessor.  But  oh,  God  in  heaven,  have 
all  these  sacrifices  been  in  vain  ? Have  I severed 
every  earthly  tie,  yielded  up  every  natural  im- 
pulse, only  to  find  my  chosen  religion  a cheat  and 
a lie,  a cloak  for  covetousness,  licentiousness,  and 
those  terrible  sins  which  brought  down  Heaven’s 
vengeance  on  Sodom  and  the  wicked  cities  of  the 


HOUSE  OF  THE  MAGDALENES. 


361 


plain  ?’^  The  heart-broken  nun,  nna])le  to  longer 
restrain  her  feelings,  burst  forth  into  a Hood  of 
tears.  But  in  this  she  finds  no  relief  for  the  heavy 
load  upon  her  heart.  The  Magdalene  sits  haugh- 
tily l)efore  her,  cold,  impenitent,  defiant. 

Sister  Monica  in  her  misery  thinks  of  her  health 
broken  down  by  long  fasts  and  other  mortifica- 
tions of  the  flesh.  She  thinks  how  she  has  ex- 
hausted her  physical  strength  by  constant  appli- 
cation to  her  manifold  duties.  She  thinks  now  of 
her  intellect  weakened  by  incessant  bead-counting 
— Ave  Maria,  Ave  Maria,  a hundred  times  a day, 
or  more.  The  same  thing  over  and  over  again, 
vain  repetitions  of  set  prayers ; and  then  ma~ 
tins,  tierce  nonce,  and  vespers,  other  offices  in 
honor  of  the  Virgin,  recited  daily  until  with  dis- 
ordered brain  she  used  to  see  in  ecstasy  the  most 
beautiful  heavenly  visions.  And  now  to  find  that 
it  is  all  a hollow  mockery,  and  that  the  Church 
exists  by  cruel  deception  and  the  most  awfid  hy- 
pocrisy. Oh,  the  thought  was  terrible,  agonizing  ! 
It  dwelt  on  her  mind  by  day  and  night,  harassed 
her  waking  hours,  haunted  her  pillow,  mingled 
with  her  dreams.  No  wonder  then  that  at  last  a 
direful  illness  succeeded,  and  she  was  brought  to 
death’s  door. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


FATHER  Keenan’s  convert.  — the  belle  of  beacon 

HILL. — SISTER  Monica’s  history.  — a sad  farewell. 

A FEW  years  before  our  story  opens,  Father 
Jerome  Keenan,  as  previously  intimated,  was  one 
of  the  "shining  lights”  of  the  Catholic  Church. 
Both  in  personal  and  mental  gifts  he  stood  head 
and  shoulders  above  his  fellow-priests.  His  fame 
as  a preacher  had  spread  abroad ; his  power  and 
influence  were  second  to  none  at  home.  At  first 
rector  of  an  insignificant  parish,  he  had  seen  that 
parish  grow  to  be  one  of  the  largest  and  most  im- 
portant in  the  diocese.  His  noble  appearance, 
united  with  a gracious  and  winning  manner,  drew 
to  him  hosts  of  friends.  The  circle  of  his  acquaint- 
ance widened  with  his  increasing  fame  and  popu- 
larity. Not  only  did  that  circle  embrace  people 
of  his  own  creed ; it  included  many  Protestants, 
— men  distinguished  in  mercantile,  literary,  polit- 
ical, and  professional  life.  And  it  Avas  in  this 
higher  social  class,  like  the  famous  Monseigneiir 
Capel  in  England,  that  Father  Jerome  succeeded 
in  making  numerous  remarkable  conversions  to  his 
church  and  faith. 


THE  BELLE  OF  BEACON  HILL. 


363 


Amon"  these  was  the  daus^hter  of  l\Ir.  Fhdeher 
Goldthwaite,  a resident  of  Beacon  Hill,  and 
one  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  aristocratic  deni- 
zens of  that  fashionable  precinct  of  Boston.  Mr. 
Goldthwaite’s  riches,  as  well  as  his  family  pride, 
were  inherited  commodities.  He  had  been  edu- 
cated at  Harvard,  belonged  to  several  aristo- 
cratic clubs,  was  a Unitarian  in  faith,  and  had 
the  reputation  of  being  a liberal,  benevolent, 
and  most  menial  ofentleman.  Mrs.  Goldthwaite 

o o 

fully  shared  in  her  husband’s  pride  of  wealth  and 
social  standing.  She  was  ultra-fashionable,  and 
" entertained  ” in  a style  which  gave  her  parties, 
musicales^  kettle-drums,  and  the  like  a celebrity 
which  awoke  no  little  envy  among  the  Gold- 
thwaite " set.” 

She  had  but  one  child,  a daughter,  whose 
beauty,  elegance,  and  varied  accomplishments  had 
won  for  her  the  title  of  the  " Belle  of  Beacon  Hill.’’ 
Added  to  these  attractions,  Grace  Goldthwaite 
possessed  another,  — an  important  one  in  Father 
Jerome’s  eyes,  — that  of  l)eing  an  heiress  in  her 
own  right,  irrespective  of  the  family  wealth  which, 
in  course  of  time,  would  probably  fall  to  her. 

Naturally  Grace  had  many  suitors,  but  in  her 
secret  heart  she  had  chosen  Harry  Meredith,  the 
son  of  an  old  friend  of  her  father’s,  as  the  favored 
one  of  all.  With  the  consent  of  their  parents,  the 


364 


FATHER  KEEN-AN’s  CONVERT. 


two  were  ])etrotLed ; ])ut  the  en^iiyement  had  not 
been  made  })ul)lie  up  to  the  time  when  Father  Je- 
rome, unhappily  for  the  peace  of  two  loving  hearts, 
formed  the  acquaintance  of  the  Goldthwaites,  and 
conceived  the  design  of  converting  Grace  and  se- 
curinir  her  inheritance  to  the  church  he  served. 

This  acquaintance  was  brought  about  through 
the  medium  of  Madame  Laurent,  Grace’s  French 
governess,  who,  though  Grace  had  long  since  com- 
pleted her  education,  was  still  retained  as  a sort 
of  companion  by  Mrs.  Goldthwaite.  Madame 
Laurent  was  a stanch  Catholic,  and  a member  of 
Father  Jerome’s  church.  On  several  occasions 
Grace  had  accompanied  her  to  hear  Father  Jerome 
preach,  and  before  she  knew  it  the  young  girl  fell 
under  the  sway  of  his  eloquence,  and,  by  insen- 
sible degrees,  became  inoculated  with  the  tenets 
and  doctrines  of  Catholicism. 

To  win  such  a convert  to  the  Catholic  faith  as 
this  daughter  of  one  of  Boston’s  proudest  and 
wealthiest  Protestant  families  was  sufficient  incent- 
ive, at  that  period  of  his  career,  to  enlist  Father 
Jerome’s  whole  heart  and  soul.  Madame  Laurent 
proved  a readj^  and  serviceable  ally  in  the  task. 
She  introduced  the  priest  to  the  Goldthwaites,  and, 
as  one  of  the  " lions  ” of  the  hour,  he  was  soon  on 
a footing  of  intimacy  with  the  family. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  detail  the  insidious  process 


THE  BELLE  OF  BEACON  HILL. 


365 


by  which  Father  Jerome  gradually  accomplished 
his  object.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  he  gained  com- 
plete control  over  the  mind  of  his  pupil,  until, 
after  having  been  secretly  baptized  and  cimtirmed, 
Grace  became  the  veriest  puppet  in  his  hands. 
All  the  latent  enthusiasm  of  her  nature  had  been 
awakened  by  the  subtle  skill  and  insight  of  the 
priest,  and  she  was  in  a state  of  mind  to  make  any 
and  every  earthly  sacritice  to  her  religious  zeal. 

Only  when  too  late,  only  when  the  die  was  cast, 
were  Grace  Goldthwaite’s  unsuspecting  parents 
and  lover  informed  that  she  had  embraced  the 
Catholic  faith,  and,  furthermore,  that  she  had 
determined  to  enter  a convent,  with  a view  to 
devoting  herself  to  a religious  life.  Entreaties, 
expostulations,  were  all  in  vain.  The  piiest’s'  influ- 
ence was  paramount  over  her  father’s  commands, 
her  lover’s  prayers,  and  her  mother  tears,  and  at 
length  they  were  compelled  to  yield.  Only  Mrs. 
Goldthwaite  and  a few  relatives  and  friends  accoiU' 
panied  Grace  to  the  depot  on  the  day  of  her 
departure  for  Baltimore.  Her  father  sternly 
refused  to  see  her  ofl*;  and  Harry  Meredith,  utterly 
broken-hearted,  dared  not  trust  himself  to  be 
present  at  the  final  leave-taking. 

The  moment  of  parting  came.  Then,  and  not 
till  then,  Grace  realized  the  extent  of  her  sacri- 
fices. Until  that  moment  religious  enthusiasm 


366 


FATHER  Keenan’s  convert. 


had  sustained  her.  Now  her  spirits  fell,  her  heart 
suddenly  rebelled. 

"O  mother,  mother!”  she  cried,  springing 
back  from  the  side  of  the  priest,  and  throwing  her 
arms  around  her  mother’s  neck.  " I cannot,  can- 
not leave  you  ! Take  me  home  ; oh_,  take  me  back 
to  my  dear  old  home  1 I did  not  know  the  agony 
of  parting  Oh,  how  can  I leave  my  beautiful 
home,  never,  never  to  return  ; never  to  see  your 
dear,  dear  face  again ; never  again  to  feel  your 
arms  about  my  neck ; never  to  share  with  you 
my  troubles  and  griefs  ; never  to  hear  your  tender 
words  of  love  and  sympathy  I Oh,  it  cannot  be  ! 
It  will  kill  me  to  part  with  everything  I ever 
loved.  Oh,  I fear  I have  done  wrong  ! My  heart 
upbraids  me.  The  voice  of  nature  cries  aloud 
against  this  parting.  I cannot,  oh,  I cannot  go  ! ” 

Sobs  of  anguish  choked  her  utterance,  and  she 
could  only  lay  her  head  upon  her  mother’s  bosom 
and  yield  to  the  fierce  storm  of  sorrow  and  grief 
which  swept  over  her. 

It  was  a deeply  afiecting  sight  to  witness  that 
proud,  aristocratic  mother,  in  her  elegant  raiment, 
bowed  with  a grief  too  deep  for  words,  and  that 
lovely,  youthful  daughter,  in  her  simple  novice's 
dress,  convulsed  with  the  agony  of  parting  forever 
from  those  she  loved,  as  one  on  a dying  bed  takes 
final  leave  of  those  near  and  dear,  and  bestows 


THE  BELLE  OF  BEACON  HILL. 


367 


a last  caress  before  the  eye  closes  in  its  eternal 
sleep. 

The  railroad  depot  was  thronged  on  that  morn- 
ing. An  excursion  party  was  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  the  train  which  was  to  take  it  to  the  seaside 
or  to  some  rural  picnic  grounds.  People  were 
hurrying  to  and  fro,  with  bags,  baskets,  and 
parcels,  all  with  smiling,  joyous  faces,  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  day’s  pleasures  and  relaxation  from  the 
ordinary  cares  of  life.  But  many  of  them  paused, 
and  the  bright  countenances  clouded  and  saddened 
with  sudden  sympathy  as  they  beheld  the  sorrow- 
stricken  group  of  friends  and  relatives  gathered 
around  that  mother  and  daughter,  and  saw  those 
two  clinging  to  each  other  in  the  very  abandon- 
ment of  an  utterable  misery  and  despair. 

Father  Jerome  and  the  nun  who  was  to  conduct  • 
Grace  to  Baltimore  now  drew  near  and  expostu- 
lated with  the  poor  girl,  trying  to  soothe  and  quiet 
her  agitation. 

”This  excess  of  grief  is  sinful,  my  dear  child,” 
said  the  priest,  gently  seeking  to  withdraw  Grace 
from  her  mother’s  embmce. 

"Would  you  deny  my  child  this  last  consola- 
tion? ” cried  ;Mrs.  Goldthwaite,  fiercely  turning  on 
Father  Jerome,  and  clasping  her  daughter’s  form 
tightly  to  her  breast.  " Have  you  the  heart  to 
tear  asunder  a mother  and  child,  who  may  never 


368 


FATHER  Keenan’s  convert. 


meet  again  on  earth?  Oh,  cruel,  cruel  priest! 
Behold  your  wicked  work  I Look  on  this  weak 
and  fragile  girl,  whose  mind  you  have  poisoned, 
whose  will  you  have  subjugated,  till  she  has  no 
mind,  knows  no  will  but  yours.  Like  a thief  in 
the  night  you  crept  into  my  household,  and  stole 
the  dearest  and  most  precious  of  my  treasures  I 
You  have  plunged  a happy  home  in  misery  I You 
have  unknit  the  closest  ties  of  nature  I By  your 
persuasive  arts  you  have  crushed  a daughter’s 
tilial  love  and  duty  and  tilled  her  mind  and  soul 
with  a religious  enthusiasm  false  to  every  princi- 
ple of  true  religion,  — false  to  nature,  and  talse  to 
God’s  revealed  word  I But  as  if  this  were  not 
enough,  you  would  forbid  a last  embrace,  shorten 
this  all  too  brief  farewell.” 

"I  would  do  so  only  in  mercy  to  yourself,  dear 
madam,  and  in  mercy  to  your  daughter,  whose 
welfare,  believe  me,  is  as  precious  to  me  as  it  is 
to  you,”  answered  Father  Jerome  in  that  mild 
and  soothing  tone  which  none  could  assume  with 
more  effect.  ” Partings  are  ever  bitter  and  hard 
for  loving  hearts  to  bear.  It  is  both  unwise  and 
wicked  to  strive  against  the  call  of  duty.  Think, 
dearest  madam,  of  your  daughter’s  eternal  wel- 
fare. Think  of  the  calm,  peaceful,  yet  useful  life 
to  which  she  devotes  herself, — a life  sinless,  stain- 
less as  the  ange.s’ ; full  of  good  works, — a life 


THE  BELLE  OF  BEACON  IHLL. 


369 


passed  in  sweet  meditation  and  holy  communion 
with  heaven,  alternating  with  daily  ministrations 
to  the  poor  and  the  unfortunate,  the  sick,  the  dis- 
tressed, and  the  dying.  Oh,  what  life  can  com- 
pare with  such  as  this  ! Who  would  not  freely 
part  with  home,  wealth,  luxury,  in  exchange  for 
the  bliss  of  such  an  existence,  and  the  certain 
promise  of  a glorious  immortality  ? ” 

Though  addressed  to  Mrs.  Goldthwaite,  this 
speech  was  artfully  intended  for  the  ear  of  Grace, 
and,  perceiving  that  it  had  apparently  produced  the 
desired  effect,  the  priest  once  more  gently  sought 
to  draw  the  young  girl  away  from  her  mother. 

"Forgive  me.  Father,”  said  Grace,  meekly, 
slowly  yielding  to  his  persuasion.  " It  was  very 
wrong  and  wicked  for  me  to  give  way  like  that. 
I am  ready  now : please  take  me  to  the  cars  at 
once.” 

She  turned  involuntarily  to  give  one  last  fond 
look  at  her  mother.  That  mother  stood  like  one 
transfixed,  her  arms  extended  towards  Grace  with 
a yearning  gesture,  an  ex[)ression  of  dumb  agony 
in  her  face  more  eloquent  in  its  deep,  intense 
pathos  than  any  words  could  have  conveyed. 

The  young  girl  stopped,  trembled,  hesitated  for 
a single  instant,  and  then,  as  a reflection  of  that 
look  of  speechless  anguish  seen  in  her  mother’s 
countenance  swept  over  her  own,  she  broke  away 


370 


FATHER  Keenan’s  convert. 


from  the  priest’s  detaining  grasp,  swiftly  flew  to 
Mrs.  Goldthwaite’s  side,  and,  with  a shriek  that 
rang  throughout  the  depot,  startling  every  ear 
with  its  thrilling  intensity,  flung  herself  upon  her 
mother’s  bosom. 

The  crowd,  full  of  eager  sympathy,  pressed 
round  the  little  group.  Question  and  answer 
passed  from  lip  to  lip.  Those  nearest  to  the 
scene  quickly  comprehended  its  import,  and  dark 
looks  were  cast  upon  Father  Jerome,  while  indig- 
nant mutterings  began  to  be  heard  on  every  side. 

Fearing  some  popular  demonstration,  in  which 
his  convert  might  be  forcibly  prevented  from  pur- 
suing her  journey.  Father  Keenan  now  resolutely 
pushed  his  way  toward  Grace,  determined  at  on.ce 
to  cut  short  the  harrowing  scene. 

But  his  approach  was  the  signal  for  mother  and 
daughter  to  cling  only  the  more  closely  to  each 
other. 

Mother  ! mother  ! ” cried  Grace,  frantically. 
” Do  not  let  them  take  me  from  you ; I want  to 
stay  with  you  always  ! I do  not  want  to  go  to  the 
convent ! Oh ! I can’t  go  there,  to  be  shut  out 
from  the  bright,  free  world ! Never  did  it  seem 
so  beautiful  as  now  ! Oh  ! where  is  father?  Why 
did  he  not  come  with  you?  Why  is  he  not  here 
to  help  me  ? Ah  ! I forget.  I would  not  listen  to 
his  advice.  I joined  the  church  against  his  com- 


THE  BELLE  OF  BEACON  HILL. 


371 


inands,  and  so  offended  him  beyond  all  forgiveness. 
He  refused  to  bid  me  farewell,  — refused  even  to 
call  me  daughter  again.  And  Harry,  — my  Harry 
as  I used  to  call  him,  — he  who  was  once  all  in  all 
to  me  ; who  loved  me  so  tenderly  ; who  was  to  have 
been  my  husband,  if  God  had  so  willed.  O 
mother,  where  is  Harry  ? Why  do  I not  see  his 
dear  face  ? Oh,  could  he  not  forgive  me  for  giving 
him  up,  when  duty,  conscience,  so  imperatively 
commanded  the  sacrifice  ? Could  he  not  come  and 
bid  me  farewell,  — wish  me  God-speed?  ” 

At  this  moment  the  crowd  was  violently  swayed 
from  side  to  side,  and  a young  man,  whose  hand- 
some face  seemed  drawn  and  haggard,  from  some 
deep  seated  grief,  thrust  himself  through  it  to 
Grace’s  side. 

" Harry  ! ” cried  the  young  girl,  as,  on  seeing  her 
lover,  she  flew  impulsively  into  his  extended  arms, 
regardless  of  the  numerous  spectators. 

"I  could  not  keep  my  resolution,  Grace,”  said 
he,  in  a voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "Oh,  my 
dear  one  ! Think  what  you  would  do  before  it  is 
too  late  ! If  you  go  to  Baltimore,  if  you  enter  the 
convent  there,  you  doom  not  yourself  only,  but 
your  parents  and  me  to  hopeless  misery  and  sor- 
row, Think,  my  darling ! You  promised  to  be 
mine.  That  promise  was  as  sacred,  and  should  be 
as  binding,  as  any  you  have  since  made  to  this 


372 


FATHER  KEENAN’S  CONVERT. 


smootli-tongned  priest.  Come  home  with  jmiir 
mother  and  me.  Tell  Father  Jerome  you  must 
have  more  time  for  reflection.  Oh  ! ” he  continued, 
with  deeper  fervor,  " let  not  the  word  of  a priest 
outweigh  the  voice  of  natural  atfection.  Let  not 
this  man’s  sophistry  convince  your  judgment 
against  the  truer  dictates  of  your  heart.  See 
your  poor  mother;  let  her  anguish  plead  for  her. 
Look  on  me,  who  love  you  more  than  life  itself. 
Think  of  your  father,  whose  idol  you  were,  and 
whom  I have  just  left  heartbroken  with  grief  at  the 
loss  of  his  only  child.” 

This  pathetic  speech  affected  all  who  heard  it ; 
some  of  the  tender-hearted  spectators  were  even 
weeping.  Grace’s  tears  were  flowing  silently,  and 
she  was  evidently  on  the  point  of  yielding  to  her 
lover’s  prayers,  when  Father  Jerome,  seeing  his 
hardly  won  triumph  about  to  be  snatched  from  his 
hands,  and  feeling  that  his  reputation  would  suffer 
if  his  convert  escaped  him,  roused  himself  to  meet 
the  emergency. 

He  leaned  forward  and  whispered  some  words  in 
Grace’s  ear,  — words  that  were  heard  by  her 
•ilone.  The  effect  was  instantaneous.  Blushing 
<leepl}%  the  young  girl  extricated  herself  from  her 
lover’s  embrace,  and  stood  with  downcast  eyes  be- 
fore the  priest. 

The  advantage  thus  gained  Father  Jerome  was 


THE  BELLE  OF  BEACON  HILL. 


373 


not  slow  to  follow  up.  He  spoke  further  to  her, 
with  mildness,  yet  with  great  earnestness,  re- 
minded her  of  her  vows,  the  higher  duty  she  owed 
to  God  over  all  earthly  ties  and  affections,  and  in 
short,  .in  a few  brief  minutes,  regained  all  his 
former  sway  and  supremacy  over  the  mind  of  hi? 
convert. 

As  the  last  signal  was  sounded  for  the  train  it 
start,  Grace,  having  controlled  her  agitation,  gavo 
a parting  caress  to  her  sobbing  mother,  met  the 
despairing  and  reproachful  gaze  of  her  lover  with 
one  sad  indeed,  but  full  of  spiritual  hope  and 
trust,  and,  supported  by  Father  Jerome  and  the 
sister  who  was  to  be  her  travelling  companion, 
entered  the  car,  and  was  soon  borne  from  the  sight 
of  those  loved  ones  whom  she  was  destined  never 
to  behold  again  in  life. 

For  five  years  Grace  Goldthwaite  remained  in 
the  Baltimore  convent.  On  taking  the  black  veil 
she  assumed  the  name  of  Sister  Monica.  At 
length,  with  several  others  belonging  to  her  order, 
she  was  transferred  to  the  House  of  the  Magda- 
lenes,  there  to  pursue  her  life-long  task  of  minis- 
tering to  those  unfortunates  of  her  own  sex  who 
have  fallen  a prey  to  man’s  brutality,  or  to  their 
own  headlong  passions  and  vices.  For  ten  years 
Sister  Monica  has  patiently  fulfilled  her  charitable 
task,  never  passing  beyond  the  convent’s  walls, 


374 


FATHER  Keenan’s  convert. 


hearing  in  that  long  period  not  one  word  of  her 
parents,  her  lover,  or  her  host  of  former  friends. 

If  any  regrets  ever  troubled  her,  they  were 
known  only  to  herself  or  her  confessor,  and  severe 
fasts  and  penances  were  made  to  atone  for  such 
sinful  suggestions  of  the  Evil  One,  as  she  believed 
them  to  be.  Such  was  Sister  Monica,  such  her 
history  and  life-work. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


THE  DYING  NUN.  — AFFECTING  DEATH -BED  SCENE.  — A 
VISION  OF  PARADISE. 

A SOLEMN  scene  was  taking  place  in  Sister 
Monica’s  cell.  The  gentle  spirit  of  the  nun  was 
passing  to  its  reward.  The  shock  of  Mary 
Mulligan’s  confession,  together  with  a weak  con- 
stitution enfeebled  by  ceaseless  fasts,  vigils,  and 
exposure  to  cold  and  damp,  had  brought  on  a fatal 
illness.  The  physician  had  already  pronounced 
the  dread  fiat.  Extreme  unction  had  been  admin- 
istered. Sister  Monica  was  dying. 

But  in  these  last  moments  all  the  fervor  and 
strength  of  her  religious  convictions  returned,  and 
they  strengthened  and  sustained  her  throughout 
her  mortal  sufferings.  A sweet,  placid  smile  lit 
up  her  wan  countenance.  Around  her  bed  the 
pious  sisters  were  gathered,  weeping  and  praying 
for  the  happy  passage  of  the  fleeting  soul. 

"See  I ” they  said  to  each  other,  as  a rapturous 
smile  illumined  the  dying  nun’s  face,  and  she 
feebly  clasped  her  hands  together,  — " see  ! saints 
and  angels  are  whispering  to  our  dying  sister. 
The  world  is  slipping  from  her  sight.  Heaven  is 
already  in  view.” 


376 


THE  DYING  NUN. 


The  sound  of  their  sobs  and  moanino^s  at  leno^tli 
attracted  Sister  Monica’s  attention. 

"Do  not  weep,  dear  sisters,”  she  murmured. 
" Rejoice  with  me  that  my  earthly  pilgrimage  is 
almost  over.  Ah  ! how  happy,  how  happy  I feel ! 
The  Holy  Virgin  has  heard  your  prayers,  dear 
sisters.  She  has  vouchsafed  me  the  peace  that 
passeth  understanding.  I am  free  from  all  pain, 
free  from  grief,  free  from  worldly  longings.  Ah  ! 
how  sweet  this  peaceful  calm.  Plow  blissful  to  be 
at  rest ! How  holy  to  die  in  the  Lord  ! ” 

Then,  as  she  paused  from  weakness,  the  priest 
standi m?  at  the  bedside  commenced  ao'ain  to  recite 
the  prayers  for  the  dying,  the  weeping  nuns  utter- 
ing the  res))onses  in  voices  quavering  and  tremulous 
with  emotion. 

" Ploly  Mary,  pray  for  her.” 

" St.  Mary  Magdalene,  pray  for  her.” 

"All  ye  holy  angels  and  archangels,  pray  for 
her.” 

" All  ye  holy  apostles  and  evangelists,  pray 
for  her.” 

" From  the  pains  of  hell  deliver  her,  O Lord  ” 

" Through  thy  cross  and  passion,  deliver  her,  O 
Lord  ” 

" Through  thy  glorious  resurrection,  deliver  her, 
O Lord.”  " 

"Through  the  grace  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  the 
Comforter,  deliver  her,  O Lord.” 


A VISION  OF  PARADISE. 


37T 


Sister  Monica,  ''the  gentle  nun,”  as  they  called 
her,  was  dear  to  every  heart  in  the  little  com- 
munity. They  felt  as  if  the  very  sunlight  of  the 
place  was  departing;  as  if  they  were  losing  the 
tenderest  of  friends,  the  dearest  and  most  beloved 
of  sisters. 

As  the  mother  superior  bent  over  and  tenderly 
wiped  the  moisture  from  the  nun’s  brow,  Sister 
Monica  rallied  and  s[)oke  again. 

" Dear  ^Mother,”  putting  up  her  arms  feebly  to 
encircle  the  superior’s  neck,  " you  have  ever  been 
so  kind  to  me.  Your  counsels  have  sustained  me 
when  my  task  seemed  too  heavy  for  my  feeble 
strength.  Kiss  me ; kiss  me,  dear  Mother,  ere  I 
die.”  And  as  the  superior,  with  overflowing 
tears,  pressed  her  lips  again  and  again  to  those  of 
the  dying  nun,  she  said  once  more,  — 

" And  now,  dear  sisters,  you  too  must  kiss  me, 
and  receive  my  parting  blessing.”  And  one  by 
one  the  weeping  nuns  approached  the  bedside, 
and  gave  a last  caress  to  her  they  loved  so  dearly. 
Several  times  her  lips  moved  again,  as  if  she  were 
essaying  to  speak,  but  no  sound  issued  from  them. 
Her  eyes  closed,  and  the  lamentations  now  broke 
forth  unrestrained,  for  all  thought  the  "entle  spirit 
had  fled. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  opened  again,  she  raised  one 
hand,  as  if  enjoining  silence,  and  at  the  same  time 


378 


THE  DYING  NXJN. 


lifted  herself  slightly  from  the  pillow,  while  she 
seemed  to  strain  her  sight  and  gaze  far  away  into 
vacancy,  a look  of  ineffable  rapture  stole  over 
her  countenance,  irradiating  it  as  if  with  the  light 
of  another  world. 

" Hush  ! ” she  said,  softly.  " I hear  the  sweet- 
est, most  delicious  strains  of  music.  Oh,  how 
sweet,  how  holy  the  sounds  ! What  is  it?  Hush  ! 
Do  you  not  hear  it  ? ” 

The  awestruck  listeners,  catching  the  spirit  of 
her  enthusiasm,  almost  fancied  they  too  heard  a 
wave  of  harmony  floating  overhead,  and  the  silence 
of  death  fell  in  the  room. 

" Yes,”  continued  Sister  Monica,  ecstatically, 
" it  is  the  voices  of  the  angels,  hymning  some 
heavenly  chant.  Oh,  how  beautiful ! how  enchant- 
ing ! Hush  ! Now  they  die  away  ! Hark  ! Now 
I hear  those  delicious  strains  again.  Ha ! The 
sounds  come  nearer.  Oh,  listen  ! listen  ! They 
swell  into  the  divinest  of  harmonies  ! Ah  ! No 
earthly  master  could  compose  such  an  ethereal 
melody  ! Oh,  my  soul  seems  mounting  on  wings  ! 
It  longs  to  fly  and  join  that  angel  choir ! Yes, 
yes,  I must  go  ! Oh,  I must  go  ! ” 

Again  her  eyes  closed,  her  head  sank  gently 
back  upon  the  pillow,  her  breath  came  and  went 
in  short,  fitful  gasps,  and  a spasm  of  pain  swept 
over  her  features. 


A VISION  OF  PARADISE. 


379 


A fearful  struggle  for  breath  ensued.  Her  slight 
form  was  terribly  convulsed  ; but  it  was  only  for 
a moment  The  convulsions  suddenly  ceased,  the 
contracted  features  resumed  their  former  placidity, 
the  same  smile  of  rapturous  joy  and  longing  suf- 
fused her  countenance  as  her  eyes  again  unclosed, 
while  a stray  sunbe'am,  darting  through  the  grated 
window,  fell  loving  upon  her  bright,  golden  hair, 
and  seemed  to  the  enra[)tured  watchers  to  form  a 
saintly  halo  and  a heavenly  crown  of  glory  upon 
her  head. 

With  a common  impulse  they  drew  nearer  to 
the  bedside,  as  again  the  dying  nun  commenced 
to  speak.  At  first  the  words  came  very  faint  and 
low,  and  broken  by  her  catching  breath ; but 
gradually  some  new  strength  seemed  to  be  im- 
parted to  her  voice,  and  her  speech  grew  stronger 
and  clearer  as  she  proceeded. 

" Ah  ! my  vision  clears  ; I see  the  angel  choir  ! 
They  are  coming  nearer  and  nearer  ! Oh,  what 
radiant  forms  ! What  sweet,  beautiful  faces  ! How 
divine  those  smiles  of  love  ! See  how  they  wave 
their  golden  harps  ; and  now  — now  they  point  to 
the  floral  crowns  upon  their  heads  ! Ah  ! Now 
they  beckon  to  me  ! Beckon  me  to  join  the  an- 
gelic host ! ” She  paused,  and  then  with  new 
ecstasy,  continued  : — 

Ah ! What  is  this  ? The  veil  of  heaven  is 


380 


THE  DYING  NTX. 


drawn  aside  ! Holy  Virgin  ! I see  the  golden 
streets,  and  forms  of  saints  and  angels  in  great 
multitudes  passing  to  and  fro.  Ah  ! And  there 

— there  a mansion  with  walls  of  jasper  and  por- 
phyiy,  and  in  its  midst  a resplendent  throne  shin- 
ing with  gold  and  precious  stones ; and  there  — 
Oh,  ecstatic  joy  ! — there  a form  seated  upon  it, — 
a form  and  face  too  dazzling,  too  refulgent  for 
mortal  eye  to  look  upon.  Ah  ! He  beckons  me 

— /VIC,  humble  sinner  that  I am  — to  him.  He 
points  to  the  vacant  seat  at  his  right  side.  Oh  ! 
he  speaks  to  me,  calls  me  his  love,  his  heavenly 
bride,  and  bids  me  hasten  to  my  eternal  home  and 
to  his  sheltering  arms.  Ah ! My  Lord,  my 
Saviour,  my  heavenly  Bridegroom  ! I come  ! I 
come  ! ” 

And  with  the  last  word.  Sifter  Monica  slowly 
sank  back,  her  arms  folded  themselves  across  her 
bo'om,  her  sweet  eyes  half  closed,  and  with  a 
soft,  gentle  sigh,  while  the  reflection  of  heaven’s 
own  light  glorified  her  lovely  features,  her  spirit 
floated  away  so  peacefully  that  those  weeping  sis- 
ters knew  not  of  its  departure  until  the  voice  of 
the  priest  broke  in  upon  their  grief  with  the  sol- 
emn words,  — 

" Her  soul  is  with  the  saints.  Requiescat  in 
pace  ! ” 

Her  obsequies  were  celebrated  with  due  form 


A VISION  OF  PARADISE. 


381 


and  solemnity,  and  her  mortal  remains  buried  in 
the  cemetery  attached  to  the  House  of  the  Magda- 
lenes. 

But  the  world  never  knew  that  underneath  the 
modest  headstone  which  noted  the  virtues  of  Sis- 
ter Monica,  reposed  the  ashes  of  Grace  Gold- 
thwaite,  the  once  famous  " belle  of  Beacon  Hill.” 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


FATHER  KEENAN  REFORMED. ARRAIGNED  BEFORE  A 

CLERICAL  COUNCIL. IIIS  DEFENCE  AND  DENUNCIA- 

TIONS. 

After  his  interview  with  Father  Leonard  in  the 
cell,  Jerome  Keenan  pondered  long  and  earnestly 
over  his  situation.  Some  of  Leonard’s  words  had 
sunk  deeply  into  his  soul.  That  night  he  was 
released  from  arrest,  the  charge  against  him  hav- 
ing  been  withdrawn.  He  left  the  police  station  a 
changed  man,  — changed  in  heart,  changed  in 
character. 

” Henceforth,”  said  he  to  himself,  ” I will  strug- 
gle to  the  death  against  my  besetting  sins.  Self- 
indulgence  has  made  me  a brute,  a mere  animal. 
From  this  moment  I throw  off  the  shackles  of  sin  ! 
To-day  I commence  a clean  page  in  the  ledger  of 
my  life  ! Reform  shall  be  my  watchword  ! Oh, 
that  I could  return  to  the  bosom  of  the  Church  ! 
But  however  that  may  be,  the  name  of  Father 
Jerome  shall  once  more  become  known,  respected, 
and  loved  as  an  earnest  worker  in  the  cause  of 
Christ.  Like  Peter  the  Hermit,  I will  sound  the 
tocsin  of  a new  crusade,  — a crusade  against  vice 


HIS  DEFENCE  AND  DENUNCIATIONS.  383 


and  sin ; against  corruption  in  the  church  and  the 
priesthood ; and  purge  this  Augean  sta])le  of  its 
accumulated  evils  and  wrono^s  to  relit^ion  and 
humanity  ! ” 

And  Father  Keenan  kept  his  vow.  A new 
strength  and  power  to  resist  temptation  was  born 
within  him.  The  cravings  for  strong  drink, 
fiercely  battled  with,  at  length  yielded  before  his 
awakened  determination  and  resolute  will.  Truly 
a miracle  had  been  wrought  in  his  case,  — a mira- 
cle wondrous  as  those  of  old ; for  from  the  ashes 
of  a heart  corrupt,  sinful,  desperately  wicked, 
had  sprung  up  a phoenix  of  pure  desires,  noble 
thoughts,  lofty  and  holy  aspirations. 

Boldly,  fearlessly  he  entered  upon  his  new  life- 
work.  Among  the  poor  and  ignorant,  who  knew 
no  hope,  no  relief,  no  God,  he  labored  with  the 
zeal  of  a missionary ; sought  to  give  them  fresh 
courage,  pointed  to  his  own  example  for  hope,  and 
preached  and  prayed  in  hovels  with  deeper  ear- 
nestness and  more  sincere  fervor  than  he  had  ever 
done  when  surrounded  by  the  pomp  and  cere- 
monials of  a grand  cathedral  service. 

His  succe-s  in  these  labors  began  to  be  noised 
about.  Crowds,  who  rarely  entered  church  or 
chapel,  flocked  to  listen  to  him.  His  irregular 
proceedings  reached  the  ears  of  the  Catholic  clergy. 
He,  a Catholic  prest,  though  "silenced,”  dared 


384 


FATTIER  KEENAN  REFORMED. 


preach  in  defiance  of  the  bishop’s  decree,  and  it 
was  said  that  he  preached  strange  doctrines  and 
advanced  heretical  theories  danijerous  to  the 
Church.  It  was  at  last  resolved  to  call  Father 
Keenan  to  account.  Accordingly,  he  was  sum- 
moned before  an  improvised  ecelesiastical  couneil 
to  answer  to  the  charges  of  scandal,  defection, 
and  heresy,  with  the  alternative  of  abjuring  his 
offences  against  the  Church,  or  receiving  the  terri- 
ble penalty  to  a Catholic  of  excommunication. 

The  charges  being  read,  Father  Keenan  rose  to 
defend  himself.  For  him  it  was  a life-and-death 
struggle.  He  realized  the  difficulty  of  the  task. 
One  glance  at  the  stern  faces  of  his  judges  showed 
that  bis  cause  was  already  prejudged.  if  he 
triumphed,  it  must  be  through  the  power  of 
eloquence.  If  he  could  move  their  hearts  to 
pity,  his  cause  was  won ; he  would  be  received 
back  into  the  Church,  and  then  by  precept  and 
example  he  could  enforce  his  views  of  reform. 
If  he  failed,  that  most  dreaded  decree  of  the 
Church  — excommunication  — would  follow. 

As  he  slowly  arose  and  faced  his  accusers,  a 
silence  as  of  death,  fell.  Every  eye  was  turned 
upon  him.  All  seemed  impressed  by  his  majestic 
presence,  the  imposing  dignity  of  his  bearing,  the 
look  of  intellectual  superiority  which  even  the 
ravages  of  dissipation  could  not  obliterate.  He 


ms  DEFENCE  AND  DENUNCIATIONS.  385 


was  the  noblest  figure  there,  a magnificent  wreck 
of  God’s  image,  grand  though  in  ruins. 

"Brothers,”  he  commenced  in  a tone  full  of 
pathetic  feeling,  " I have  obeyed  your  mandate. 

I have  come  before  this  council,  humbly  hoping 
that  you  will  be  merciful  to  a wrecked  and  ruiiuMl 
man.  Praying  that  you  will  listen  to  my  excul- 
pation, and  judge  me  candidly  and  impartially,  not 
merely  as  priests,  but  as  fellow-men  and  servants 
of  the  lowly  Jesus.  I appeal  to  your  sense  of 
justice.  I appeal  to  your  sympathies.  I appeal 
to  your  hearts.  Behold  in  me  one  who  lias  pas>ed 
through  a fiery  furnace,  — the  seven  times  heated 
furnace  of  alHiction,  of  misery  and  sin  ! 

"Look  on  this  trembling  frame,  this  almost  pal-, 
sied  hand,  this  prematurely  whitened  head  ! Once 
these  nerves  and  muscles  were  like  steel ; these 
silvered  locks  black  as  the  raven’s  wing.  Once  I 
was  full  of  hope,  strong  of  will,  resolute  in  faith. 
My  profession  was  my  glory  and  my  pride.  Heart 
and  soul,  body  and  mind,  were  enlisted  in  the 
cause  of  the  Church.  Life  itself,  if  necessary,  I- 
would  have  laid  on  the  altar,  and  counted  it  a 
gloriiuis  sacrifice.  I had  influence,  power,  uni- 
versal respect.  The  highest  and  the  humblest 
united  to  honor  me.  To-day  I am  a disgraced 
and  degraded  man,  with  no  one  on  earth  whom  I 
dare  call  friend  ! ” 


386 


FATHER  KEENAN  REFORMED. 


He  paused  in  agitation,  his  voice  growing  too 
husky  to  proceed,  while  his  eyes  were  .-uM\ised 
with  sudden  tears. 

" But  this  is  no  answer  to  the  charges  preferred 
against  you,”  said  the  chief  accuser,  apparently 
unmoved  by  Father  Keenan’s  emotion. 

"Have  patience  with  me,  reverend  brother,” 
answered  Keenan,  imploringly.  ”Let  me  show 
you  how  I have  been  tempted,  how  I have  re- 
sisted, how  at  last  I have  conquered  through  the 
grace  of  God,  and  judge  me  not  till  you  know  all 
my  story.  Tempted  ! ” he  repeated,  raising  his 
hands  to  heaven.  "God  only  knows  what  my 
temptations  have  been  ! Angels  might  have  fallen 
under  them.  For  years  a volcano  seethed  and 
burned  in  my  bosom.  A fire  of  consuming  appe- 
tite ; a flame  that  burned  the  more  fiercely  with 
every  effort  to  quench  it.  A mountain  weight 
pressed  me  down,  a weight  that  crushed  me  to 
the  earth.  I was  burdened  like  the  fiibled  Sind- 
bad  with  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea  upon  his  back. 
I struijfjled  like  a ^iant  Samson  to  break  through 
a Delilah’s  meshes.  I battled  with  evil  habits, 
— with  the  thirst  for  strong  drink,  with  carnal 
desires ; fought  these  twin  demons  like  a tiger, 
and  foiled.  Alas ! like  the  stone  of  Sisyphus, 
my  sins  rolled  back  upon  me,  and  set  at  naught 
every  high  endeavor,  until  I sunk  down,  ruined 


HIS  DEFENCE  AND  DENUNCIATIONS.  387 


and  vanquished,  no  longer  able  to  struggle  or  re- 
sist iny  fate  ! ” 

"Tliis  is  all  idle  talk  ; you  waste  the  time  of  the 
council  in  vain  speech.  The  question  is,  do  you 
confess  your  guilt ; do  you  admit  the  truth  of  these 
charges  of  defection  and  heresy  ? ” demanded  the 
presiding  priest. 

■'  I confess  that  I have  been  a guilty,  a fallen, 
and  a most  miserable  man,”  said  Father  Keenan, 
al)jectly.  " Oh,  may  none  who  hear  my  voice  ever 
know  the  overwhelming  force  of  my  temptations,  or 
experience  the  terrible  pangs  of  my  remorse  ! To 
remember  how  high  I have  stood,  and  behold  how 
low  I have  fallen,  is  the  bitterest  of  expiations. 
What  oilier  punishment  can  equal  that?  Yet,  I 
prayed  unceasingly;  confessed  and  appealed,  in 
all  the  agony  of  a soul  in  torment,  to  my  fellow- 
priests  for  help  to  lift  my  burden.  I invoked  all 
the  powers  of  the  Church  to  aid  me.  I underwent 
mortilications,  penance,  and  fasting,  till  life  was 
nearly  extinct.  Day  after  day,  and  night  after 
night,  have  I prostrated  myself  before  the  altar, 
literally  storming  heaven  with  prayer.  Praying 
as  man  never  prayed  before  ; praying  like  the 
Son  of  God  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane.” 

He  paused  again  ; hut  seeing  only  cold  and  repel- 
lent looks,  braced  himself  for  a last  and  final  appeal, 
and  continued  with  intense  feeling. 


388 


FATHER  KEENAN  REFORIHED. 


"Oh,  reverend  brothers  and  judges;  I beseech 
yon,  let  the  good  I have  done,  and  am  still  striving 
to  do,  plead  for  me  in  your  hearts.  Do  not  take 
away  my  hope  of  retrieving  the  ])ast ; do  not  con- 
demn me  before  you  have  heard  all.  By  my  past 
sacrifices,  by  my  long  years  of  devotion  to  the 
Church,  by  the  converts  I have  made,  by  my  bur- 
dens for  the  woes  of  others,  by  my  days  of  toil, 
and  sleepless  nights,  passed  in  prayer,  in  vigil  and 
anxious  thought,  I implore  you  to  be  merciful ! 
Xo  sacrifice  has  ever  daunted  me.  I have  risked 
health  and  life  at  the  bedside  of  the  sick  and 
dying.  Have  defied  snow  and  storm,  fever  and 
pestilence,  to  administer  the  last  sacred  rites  of  the 
Church,  and  shrive  and  comfort  the  parting  soul. 
Never  did  I refuse  bounty  to  the  needy ; never 
deny  shelter  to  the  homeless  wanderer,  or  turn 
the  poor,  sinful,  and  forlorn  outcast  away  from  my 
door  without  hope  and  comfort.  Many  a forsaken 
orphan,  many  a distracted  mother,  and  many  a 
heart-broken  widow  in  this  city  have  blessed,  again 
and  again,  the  name  of  Father  Jerome.  Oh,  let  the 
tears  I have  quenched,  the  bruised  hearts  I have 
bound  up,  the  griefs  I have  assuaged,  plead  for 
me  in  this  my  hour  of  need  ! I beseech  you,  for- 
get not  how  I have  striven  in  the  past  to  conquer 
my  frailties,  redeem  my  character,  to  save  the 
priesthood  and  Church  from  scandal  and  disgrace. 


HIS  DEFENCE  AND  DENUNCIATIONS.  389 


No  longer  can  I serve  the  Church,  as  I would  serve 
it,  redeem  it  from  reproach,  as  I am  seeking  to 
redeem  myself.  I am  a priest  under  the  ban. 
Forbidden  to  preach  as  an  anointed  priest,  for- 
bidden to  officiate  at  the  altar,  forbidden  to  per- 
form any  clerical  function.  Remove  that  ban ; 
reinstate  me  in  my  office  of  priest ! If  you  con- 
demn me  further,  cast  me  utterly  off,  where  then 
is  my  hope  ? What  is  left  me  but  despair  ? ” 

As  he  concluded,  Father  Keenan  anxiously 
scanned  the  faces  of  the  priests  composing  the 
council.  Some  of  them  he  knew,  or  had  known, 
in  his  prosperous  days,  and  among  them  he  saw 
several  who  had  never  been  friendly  to  him,  and 
whom  he  believed  were  his  secret  foes  and  de- 
tractors. His  heart  sank  within  him.  In  those 
forbidding  looks  he  read  no  sign  of  hope.  A 
whispered  consultation  now  ensued,  and  pres- 
ently the  chief  accuser  said,  in  severe  tones : — ■ 
"We  feel  no  confidence  in  your  professions. 
We  distrust  your  motives.  A renegade  is  always 
to  be  suspected.  You  were  ever  intractable ; 
your  proud  and  ambitious  spirit  asserted  itself 
above  all  authority.  When  disgrace  was  brought 
upon  the  Church  by  your  misconduct,  and  pun- 
ishment followed,  instead  of  meekly  submitting, 
you  sought  to  defame  the  holy  Church,  threw  the 
blame  and  burden  of  your  sins  upon  its  shoulders, 


390 


FATHER  KEENAN  REFORMED. 


proclaimed  it  corrupt  and  its  ministers  unfaithful. 
Like  the  fi’Dzen  adder,  you  stung  the  bosom  that 
warmed  you  into  life  ! ” 

" Not  until  I was  silenced  and  thrown  out  from 
her  bosom,’’  answered  Father  Keenan,  stung  at 
last  to  the  quick  by  the  failure  of  all  his  efforts  to 
move  the  hearts  of  his  judges.  And,  reckless 
now  of  all  consequences,  he  continued  ; ^'My  sen- 
tence was  unjust.  I had  made  powerful  enemies 
in  the  Church.  Envy  sought  to  pull  me  down. 
I was  an  obstacle,  a stumbling-block,  in  the  way 
of  other  priests’  advancement.  Greater  delin- 
quents than  I was  are  to-day  in  good  standing, 
crowned  with  honors,  holdino*  hi<^h  offices  in  the 
Church  ! ” 

"Hold ! ” cried  the  chief  accuser,  sternly,  while 
the  others  manifested  their  disapprobation  by  in- 
dignant murmurs.  " How  dare  you  utter  such 
shameful  statements  before  this  assemblage?  Be- 
ware I your  fate  is  in  our  hands.  The  Church  is 
all  mercy  and  forgiveness  to  the  truly  penitent ; 
but  to  her  enemies  she  is  a foe  to  be  dreaded  and 
feared  ! Beware  ! again  I say.  Down  upon  your 
knees  to  that  Church  you  have  maligned  and  de- 
famed ! Renounce  your  errors ; abjure  your 
heresy,  swear  to  be  an  obedient  and  humble  son 
of  the  holy  Church,  ready  to  do  her  will  without 
question  or  reservation,  or  fear  her  righteous 
wrath  I ” 


HIS  DEFENCE  AND  DENUNCIATIONS.  391 


Keenan’s  lip  curled  disdainfully,  as  he  cried,  — 
Never  till  the  Church  itself  abjures  its  corrup- 
tions, and  you,  her  priesthood,  purify  yourselves 
and  strike  for  reform  ! Never  till  then  will  Jerome 
Keenan  how  the  knee.  You  would  chain  my  soul 
like  the  galley-slave  to  his  oar!  But  that  shall 
never  he  ! I have  pledged  my  remaining  years  of 
life,  be  they  few  or  be  they  many,  to  a holy  work, — 
the  work  of  reform  I No,  sir  I 1 am  no  longer  a 
suppliant.  I see  you  are  all  against  me.  So  be 
it.  Now  I am  the  accuser,  not  the  accused.  Yes  ! 
I accuse  you,  the  priesthood,  I accuse  the  Church 
itself,  as  the  cause  of  my  humiliation  and  degra- 
dation. Through  the  Church  and  its  pernicious 
doctrines  I have  been  a bonded  slave  I Slave  of 
drink ; slave  of  appetite ; slave  of  hypocrisy ; 
slave  of  celibacy,  whose  fruits  are  secret  indul- 
gences, forbidden  sweets;  preaching  publicly  on 
chastity,  and  privately  yielding  to  unholy  passions. 
Slave  of  deceptions,  encouraged  and  taught  by 
the  Church.  Deceptions  of  Virgin  worship  and 
miraculous  properties  of  doubtful  relics,  doctrines 
unknown  to  the  primitive  fathers  of  the  Church. 
Not  one  priest  in  a hundred  believes  in  them. 
Preaching  the  efficacy  of  wearing  charms,  beads, 
and  sca|)ulars,  and  secretly  laughing  at  the  delu- 
sions. Teaching  the  people  that  they  can  only  go 
to  heaven  through  the  priests’  hands,  by  ministra- 


392 


FATHER  KEENAN  REFORMED. 


tions  of  holy  water,  holy  oil,  and  through  media- 
tion of  saints.  Out  upon  such  a priestliood  ! Out 
upon  such  a corrupt  church  ! A church  not  of 
God,  but  of  man  ! A church  budt  not  upon  tlie 
eternal  foundations  of  love,  virtue,  and  justice,  but 
upon  the  shifting  sands  of  human  frailty  and  hu- 
man degrada  ion  ! A church  ambitious  for  tem- 
poral power;  not  the  moral  power  of  truth  and 
God's  holy  word  ! Out,  I say,  upon  such  a mon- 
strous shame  ! Such  a glittering  fraud  ! Such 
hideous  mockery  in  the  name  of  truth,  virtue,  and 
religion  !” 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  and  then,  as  if  struck 
with  the  spirit  of  prophecy,  continued  with  im- 
pressive utterance  : — 

" In  my  mind's  eye  I behold  a renovated  and 
reformed  church.  A church  holding  steadfastly 
to  tho  divine  mission  of  the  holy  hithers,  — of  St. 
Augustine,  of  St.  Gregory,  and  their  holy  co?i- 
freres,  A church  based  on  the  eternal  founda- 
tions of  love,  truth,  virtue ; of  peace  and  good- 
will to  all  men.  A church  whose  principles  shall 
appeal  to  the  hearts  and  souls  of  every  class,  every 
condition  and  every  race.  A church  that  shall 
teach  men  how  to  live  as  well  as  how  to  die  ! A 
church  divested  of  every  sham  ; that  shall  seek 
not  to  enchain  the  souls  of  mankind  by  a blind 
idolatry,  or  fascinate  and  inthrall  by  a debasing 


HIS  DEFENCE  AND  DENUNCIATIONS.  393 


superstition.  A church  that  shall  uplift  and  not 
deofrade.  A church  that  shall  (I'vow  stronsf  and 
powerful,  enf^)racing  the  whole  world,  and  that 
shall  do  all  this  through  the  spirit  of  love,  not  by 
the  degrading  power  of  fear.  Such  shall  be  the 
true  Catholic  Church.  Such  the  Catholic  Church 
must  become,  reformed  and  purified,  or,  still  de- 
fying heaven  and  heaven’s  laws,  it  must  sink  in 
irretrievable  ruin,  crushed  beneath  the  load  of  its 
sins  and  crimes  ! ” 

We  need  not  linijer  to  describe  the  indiofnation 

O O 

and  consternation  that  was  produced  by  this  fear- 
less denunciation. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


FATHER  Keenan’s  midnight  mission.  — a startling 

RECOGNITION. FATHER  JEROME's  TRAGIC  FATE. 

After  that  bold  dcnimciatioii  of  the  Churct 
and  the  clergy^  uttered  before  some  of  the  leading 
and  most  fanatical  of  Catholic  priests,  Jerome 
Keenan  resumed  his  labors  with  renewed  vigor 
and  energy.  In  a calmer  frame  of  mind  he  may 
have  regretted  his  precipitancy,  and  wished  that 
he  had  been  more  politic  and  conciliating  toward 
the  council.  But  regrets  were  now  unavailino". 

O O 

The  die  was  cast.  He  had  burned  his  boats,  re« 
treat  was  no  longer  possible,  and  he  must  fight 
out  the  battle  of  reform  to  the  death. 

He  knew  too  well  the  spirit  of  fanatical  hatred 
which  he  had  awakened,  not  to  feel  some  dis- 
quietude as  to  the  result  to  himself.  Persecution 
in  one  shape  or  another  was  to  be  expected.  The 
Church,  of  course,  would  not  lend  itself  to  any 
illegitimate  means  of  vengeance.  It  undoubtedly 
would  pronounce  its  severest  anathema  against 
him ; that  he  was  prepared  for.  But  many  au 
ignorant  zealot  might  be  found  who  would  not 
hesitate  to  take  upoa  himself  the  oflice  of  a pri- 


FATHER  Jerome’s  tragic  fate. 


395 


viite  redresser  of  the  Church’s  wrongs,  and  remove 
so  dangerous  an  enemy  from  its  path. 

Private  vengeance,  therefore,  was  to  he  appre- 
hended. But  the  a[)preliension  did  not  daunt  him. 
Rather  it  seemed  to  give  Father  Keenan  new 
courage,  arousinsc  as  it  did  all  the  resources  of 
his  bold,  combative,  and  fearless  nature. 

One  cold,  stormy  night  he  had  returned  late 
from  some  labor  of  duty,  to  the  humble  rooms 
which  he  occupied  in  a dilapidated  tenement 
house  at  the  North  End.  He  was  weary  and 
almost  exhausted.  One  could  see  in  the  care- 
worn countenance,  which  of  late  had  grown  thin 
and  emaciated  from  ceaseless  toil  and  insufficient 
nutriment,  that  it  was  only  the  iron  will  of  the 
man  that  sustained  him  in  carrying  out  the  devoted 
purpose  of  his  solitary  life. 

He  was  preparing  to  betake  himself  to  bed,  for 
it  was  nearly  midnight,  when  a loud  knock  came 
to  the  door,  and  upon  answering  it,  he  found  the 
wife  of  the  man  who  had  charge  of  the  house,  and 
who  informed  him  that  somebody  wanted  to  see 
him  down-stairs. 

Father  Keenan  accompanied  Mrs.  Driscoll  to  a 
lower  apartment,  and  there  found  his  visitor 
awaiting  him. 

He  was  a dark-browed,  uncouth  looking  fellow, 
of  middle  age,  a hanger-on,  or  bouncer,”  of  one 


396  FATHER  Keenan’s  midniott  mission. 


of  the  lowest  and  most  disreputable  cribs  of  the 
vicinity.  Father  Keenan  recognized  him  vat  a 
glance ; he  had  once,  while  living  at  Mag 
O’Leary’s  house,  during  a drunken  meUe^  encoun- 
tered the  man,  and,  to  the  admiration  of  the  spec- 
tators, had  thereupon  given  him  a severe  thrashing. 
But  Tim  Brady  had  afterward  shaken  hands  with 
his  conqueror,  invited  him  to  drink,  and  professed 
to  bear  no  malice  toward  his  antagonist.  It  was 
also  this  same  man  from  whom  Father  Keenan  had 
rescued  Mary  Mulligan,  as  related  in  the  first 
chapter. 

Well,  Brady,  what  can  I do  for  you?”  asked 
Father  Keenan,  as  he  took  his  visitor’s  out- 
stretched hand. 

" There ’s  a gal  at  our  place  that ’s  dying,  siir, 
and  she ’s  been  scr’amin’  for  a praste.  The  ould 
AVOID  an  axed  me  to  come  fur  you,  as  the  nearest 
ter  hand.” 

•'I  will  go  with  you  at  once,”  said  Keenan, 
hastening,  fatigued  though  he  was,  to  get  his  over- 
coat and  hat. 

Mrs.  Driscoll  followed  the  priest  from  the  room 
and  in  the  passage  detained  him.  She  had  a high 
regard  for  Father  Keenan.  But  a short  time  pre- 
vious, through  his  skill  and  medical  knowledge, 
he  had  saved  one  of  her  children  from  certain 
death,  and  a mother’s  gratitude  had  made  her  his 
friend  for  life. 


FATHER  Jerome’s  tragic  fate.'  397 


"Don’t  you  stir  a step,  Father  Keenan,”  she 
now  said,  in  an  earnest  whisper.  " Sure  it ’s  tired 
to  dith  ye  are  already  wid  bein’  out  the  livelong 
night.” 

"Do  not  delay  me,  my  friend,”  said  Keenan, 
kindly.  "A  fellow-creature  is  dying,  and  while 
1 have  strength,  nothing  shall  deter  me  from  obey- 
ing the  sacred  call  to  a dying  sinner’s  bedside.” 
And  he  turned  to  continue  his  way  iip-stairs. 

Ihit  the  woman  had  clutched  his  arm  in  her 
powerful  grip,  and  he  could  not  release  himself  at 
once. 

"For  the  Holy  Virgin’s  sake,  hearken  to  me. 
Father!”  she  said,  in  a low,  but  excited  tone. 
" Don’t  ye  go  wid  that  spalpeen  of  a Tim  Brady 
at  this  time  o’  night ! I tell  ye  I saw  the  divil’s 
own  leer  in  his  wicked  eyes  whilst  he  was  tellin’  ye 
that  yarn  about  the  dyin’  gal.  It ’s  to  do  ye  a 
mischief  he  wants,  I tell  ye  I I don’t  belave  any- 
body’s dyin’  at  all,  at  all ! Whisper  now,  darlint.’» 
And  she  approached  her  lips  close  to  his  ear, 
and  added  : " There ’s  many  an  inimy  ye  have  made 
about  here.  Sure,  yer  pr’achin’  agin  sin  an’ 
drinkin’  (may  the  saints  ever  bliss  ye  for  the  same) 
has  spoilt  trade  wid  some  folks  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, an’  they’d  be  glad  ter  do  yer  an  ngly  turn. 
Sure,  my  ears  have  been  open  for  ye.  Father,  an’ 
it ’s  not  only  the  liquor-sellers  and  bad  women  what 


3D8  FATHER  Keenan’s  midnight  mission. 

make  a livin’  by  sin  that’s  down  on  ye,  and  that 
whisi)er  threats  agin  ye  ! There ’s  more  powerful 
inimies,  mayhap,  that  ud  be  glad  ter  stop  ye  from 
pr’achin’  an’  prayin’  an’  the  like  ! Sure,  as  an 
Independent  Catholie,  the  Church  itself  ud  be 
rejoiced  ter  see  ye  put  out  of  the  way.” 

Father  Keenan  was  forcibly  struck  by  the 
worthy  woman’s  mysterious  words,  but  his  purpose 
remained  unchanged. 

" You  are  a good  soul,  Mrs.  Driscoll,”  he  said, 
"and  I thank  you  heartily  for  your  solicitude.  But 
have  no  fear  for  me  I I am  the  servant  of  the 
Lord,  and  if  harm  menaces  me  in  the  discharge  of 
a sacred  duty,  his  protecting  hand  is  all  powerful 
to  save  me,  if  such  is  his  will.  If  otherwise,  my 
duty  remains  the  same.  There,  m}^  friend,  do  not 
detain  me  longer,  since  I have  resolved  to  go  on 
this  errand  of  mercy,  even  though  death  beset  me 
at  every  step  of  the  way  ! ” 

In  the  face  of  this  unflinching  determination, 
Mrs.  Driscoll  saw  the  uselessness  of  contending 
further.  In  a minute  or  two  Father  Keenan 
rejoined  Brady,  and  the  two,  with  few  words, 
hurriedly  proceeded  through  the  pelting  storm, 
threading  dark  lanes  and  noisome  and  filthy  alleys, 
peopled  by  a squalid  and  degraded  population, 
until  they  at  length  arrived  at  their  destination,  a 
rickety,  tumble-down  house,  known  to  be  one  of 


FATHER  JEROME'S  TRAGIC  FATE. 


399 


the  worst  haunts  of  vice  even  that  crime  stained 
precinct  contained. 

If  Father  Keenan  had  any  doubts  or  suspicions 
regarding  the  truth  of  Tim  Brady’s  story,  they 
were  dispelled  entirely  as  he  was  ushered  up  the 
broken  and  tottering  stairs  to  an  up[)er  room,  and 
there  beheld  a woman’s  wasted  form  lying  ii[)on 
an  old  mattress  in  one  corner.  A couple  of 
candles  stuck  in  old  bottles  upon  the  mantel-piece 
but  dimly  lighted  the  apartment.  He  could  see, 
however,  that  it  was  bare  of  furniture,  that  a few 
dying  embers  were  on  the  hearth,  that  the  win- 
dows were  broken  and  stutled  here  and  there'  with 
old  rags  and  pa[)er,  and  that  the  semblance  of  a 
woman’s  shape  was  crouched  near  the  bed,  proba- 
bly there  as  a nurse  or  watcher  for  the  dying  wo- 
man, but  who  seemed  plunged  into  a drunken 
stupor,  from  which  the  noise  of  his  entrance  failed 
to  arouse  her. 

The  priest  approached  the  bed.  At  the  same 
time  the  dying  woman  uttered  a feeble  moan  and 
turned  her  face  toward  him.  There  was  a mutual 
cry*  of  recognition  as  Father  Keenan  started  back 
a step  and  gazed  aghast  at  the  spectre-like  form 
lying  before  him. 

In  the  sunken  features,  pinched  and  attenuated 
to  a sickenins:  degree  of  ghastliness,  he  recognized 
with  a terrible  shock  the  once  beautiful  and  charm- 


400  FATHER  Keenan’s  midnight  mission. 


ing  Oace  of  Mary  Mulligan  ! Mary,  with  equal  ra- 
pidity, perceived  who  her  visitor  w'as,  and  instinc- 
tively covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  while  she 
uttered  a sharp,  piercing  cry  that  died  away  in  a 
low  wail  of  agony. 

For  a moment  Father  Keenan  stood  speechless, 
gazing  appalled  upon  the  hideous  wreck  of  one 
whom  he  had  last  seen  in  the  plenitude  of  her 
health  and  beauty.  Providence  had  surely  directed 
his  steps  hither,  perhaps  as  a punishment,  perhaps 
that  he  might  obtain  pardon  of  her  whom  he  had 
contributed  to  wrong  and  mislead.  Kecovering 
himself  at  last,  he  knelt  down  by  her  side  and 
gently  took  her  wasted  hand. 

" Mary,”  he  said  in  a faltering  voice,  " can  it 
be  that  I lind  you  thus  destitute  — dying?  Oh, 
my  God  I have  mercy  upon  this  poor  girl;  have 
mercy  upon  me  ! ” 

He  bowed  his  head  upon  the  hand  he  held 
within  his  own,  and  overcome  by  the  thoughts  of 
his  past  guilt,  and  the  miserable  ending  of  the 
outcast’s  life,  whom  he  should  have  saved,  instead 
of  plunging  her  into  fresh  iniquity,  burst  into 
tears.  The  dying  woman’s  voice  recalled  him  to 
himself  and  the  duty  that  lay  before  him. 

■'  How  dare  you  ask  God’s  mercy,  either  for 
yourself  or  for  me,  eTerome  Keenan?  ” she  said,  in 
a tone  preternaturally  clear  and  strong  for  one  so 


FATHER  Jerome’s  tragic  fate. 


401 


near  her  end.  " Are  you  not  still  the  liar,  cheat, 
and  hypocrite  that  I formerly  knew  you  to  l)e  ? ” 
The  wolds  pierced  him  like  a dagger  thrust. 
”For  God’s  sake  spare  me,  Mary  ! ” he  cried  in 
a suffocating  voice.  ” Yes,  it  is  true ; I ivas  all 
that  you  charge  me  with  being,  worse  if  anything  I 
I was,  in  truth,  Avhen  you  knew  me,  one  of  those 
vile  wretches  who  steal  the  livery  of  heaven  to 
serve  the  devil  in  ! But,  Mary,  my  poor  girl,  I 
am  a sincerely  penitent  man.  I have  been  given 
grace  to  see  my  past  folly  and  sin  in  all  its  hideous 
nakedness,  and  strength  has  mercifully  been 
vouchsafed  me  from  on  high  to  resist  and  conquer 
the  evil  tendencies  of  my  nature.  - In  a truer 
sense  than  ever  in  my  life  before,  I can  say  that  I 
am  now  indeed  a sincere  servant  and  minister  of 
God ; one  whose  sole  hope  and  desire  is  to  find 
favor  in  his  sight,  and  redeem  my  past  by  doing 
his  holy  will.  Mary,  let  me  pray  for  you ; let 
me  pray  that  God’s  mercy  and  forgiveness  may  be 
extended  to  you  in  this  solemn  hour?  ” 

'^Pray  for  me!”  exclaimed  the  dying  woman, 
with  a mocking  laugh  that  curdled  the  very  blood 
in  her  hearer’s  veins.  ”As  if  praying  could  help 
a wretch  like  me  ! As  if  the  God  you  prate  of 
would  be  likely  to  show  mercy  to  one  dying  in 
the  full  flush  of  her  sins ; that  God  who  showed 
me  no  mercy,  when  innocent,  virtuous,  ay,  and 


402  FATHER  Keenan’s  midnight  mission. 

religious,  lie  suffered  me  to  full  into  a villain’s 
power,  only  to  become  the  sport  and  dupe  of  an 
idle  hour,  and  to  be  flung  friendless,  hopeless,  de- 
pairing into  the  maelstrom  of  city  life,  there  to 
sink  or  swim  as  the  veriest  chance  might  decide. 
No  ! Waste  no  prayers,  no  pity,  on  me  ! Let 
me  die  as  I have  lived  for  years,  without  hope, 
without  faith,  and  welcoming  death  as  the  out- 
cast’s last,  best,  and  only  friend ! ” 

Father  Keenan  recoiled  in  horror  at  these  terri- 
ble words,  so  rank  in  their  impiety,  and  which 
were  uttered  from  the  very  bitterness  of  a soul  in 
whom  hope  seemed  utterly  dead. 

But  such  scenes  were  not  new  to  his  varied 
experience.  He  had  learned  how  to  cope  with 
despair  even  when  it  was  manifested  in  those 
hovering  upon  the  brink  of  eternity.  He  had 
seen  poor  wretches  in  the  hopeless  agony  of  their 
souls,  uttering  hideous  blas})hemies  against  God 
and  religion  with  their  dying  breath,  and  yet  at 
their  last  gasp  eagerly  kiss  the  cross  that  he  held 
to  their  lips,  and  manifest  by  a word,  a look,  or  a 
sign,  their  hope  and  belief  in  divine  mercy  and 
foriiiveness.  He  now  sought  to  work  this  most 
beneficent  charm  u[)on  the  hapless,  expiring  crea- 
ture before  him.  Gently,  soothingly  as  a mother 
hushes  the  babe  upon  her  bosom,  he  spoke,  and 
all  the  wonderful  tenderness  and  eloquent  fervor 


FATHER  Jerome’s  tragic  fate. 


403 


of  tongue  that  of  yore  had  brought  vast  audiences 
to  their  knees,  and  which  had  melted  the  frozen 
fountain  of  tears  in  so  many  hardened  breasts, 
seemed  to  be  renewed  within  him  in  tenfold 
strength  and  power. 

It  was  not  immediately,  however,  that  the  djn'ng 
woman  showed  any  sign  that  she  was  afiected  l)y 
what  he  said ; but  all  at  once  at  some  touching 
allusion  to  her  days  of  innocence,  to  her  loving 
parents  and  her  childhood  s home,  Mary  suddenly 
burst  into  tears.  The  victory  was  won ! The 
•obdurate  heart,  hardened  by  sin,  shame,  and  ho[)e- 
less  misery,  was  pierced  to  its  very  depths.  The 
indest  was  not  slow  to  follow  up  his  advantage. 
To  turn  her  thoughts  to  heaven,  and  inspire  her 
with  the  Christian’s  hope  of  mercy  and  a blessed 
hereafter,  was  an  easy  transition.  A smile  of 
hope  flickered  in  her  glazing  eyes  and  about  her 
colorless  lips ; she  clasped  her  hands  upon  her 
bosom,  and  faintly  murmured  some  broken  words 
of  a prayer  that  had  been  taught  her  at  her  moth- 
er’s knee  ; and  then  her  thoughts  seemed  to  wan- 
der back  to  her  early  life,  and  she  was  again  a 
child,  prattling  of  home,  parents,  her  playmates, 
and  the  infantile  sports  and  joys  of  that  happiest 
period  of  existence.  The  words  came  broken 
and  disconnected  from  her  tremulous  lips,  but  the 
sense  was  easily  supplied  by  the  context. 


404  FATHER  Keenan’s  midnight  mission. 


''Mother  !”  she  said,  — that  sacred  name  which 
ever  rises  first  to  the  lips  and  in  the  thoughts  of  the 
dying,  — '*  mother,  I have  not  seen  you  for  a long, 
long  time.  Where,  where  are  you,  dear  mother? 
Ah  ! I must  have  been  slumbering,  and  dreamt  this 
terrihle  dream,  for  now  I see  you  plainly.  Yes! 
your  dear  arms  are  still  around  me,  just  as  they 
were  when  I fell  asleep.  Oh,  1 remember  it  all, 
now  ! How  silly  to  be  frightened  by  a bad  dream  1 
Why,  I thought,  I fancied  some  bad,  wicked 
man  had  stolen  me  from  my  home,  l)rought  me  to 
a great  city,  and  told  me  I should  never  behold 
you  again.  Oh,  it  was  frightful,  frightful  I But 
how  plain,  how  vivid  seemed  the  events  of  my 
dream.  At  limes  I was  dressed  in  rich  and  ele- 
gant apparel ; every  pleasure  that  could  delight 
the  senses  was  mine.  Friends  flocked  around  me ; 
but  that  wicked,  handsome  face  which  had  lured 
me  from  my  home  was  ever  present,  and  I seemed 
chained  to  that  base  man’s  side,  and  forced  to  do 
his  will  beyond  all  power  to  escape.  But  I looked 
in  vain  for  you,  dearest  mother  I I searched 
anxiously  amongst  the  crowd  for  your  sweet,  lov- 
ing face,  for  I knew  if  I could  once  find  you,  that 
you  would  shield  me  from  all  harm.” 

She  paused  to  recover  breath,  while  the  bitter 
winter’s  wind  whistled  down  the  chimney,  rattled 
the  loose  window-frames,  and  wailed  mournfully 


FATHER  Jerome’s  tragic  fate. 


405 


round  the  corners  of  the  old  house,  as  if  the 
spirits  of  the  air  were  hymning  a dirge  for  poor 
Mary’s  passing  sold.  Presently  she  continued  : — 

" Again,  I seemed  to  be  wandering  through 
crowded  streets,  flying  from  something,  — I 
knew  not  what.  And  then — then  — oh,  mother, 
mother ! tell  me  that  it  was  only  a horrible 
dream  ! — a policeman  arrested  me  and  took  me 
to  a prison  cell.  And  next  I saw  a room  packed 
with  peoi)le ; policemen  stood  around,  and  on  a 
raised  seat  a man  they  addressed  as  judge,  while 
I,  — oh,  horror  ! — I stood  opposite  to  him  in  the 
dock,  a prisoner  charged  with  crime,  and  about  to 
be  sentenced  to  jail!  Xo,  no!”  she  cried,  "it 
could  not  be  true  ! It  was  a dream,  a hideous 
nightmare  ! ” 

She  ceased,  shuddering  at  the  thought,  but  soon 
resumed : — 

" And  then,  again,  I seemed  to  be  wandering 
through  city  streets.  But  it  was  night,  — mid- 
night now.  Men  brushed  rudely  by  me,  — brutal 
men,  who  flung  at  me  some  ribald  jest,  or  passed 
me  with  a vile  leer,  while  some  gave  me  only  a 
j)itying,  }"et  contem[)tuous  glance.  I seemed  to 
sec  nn'self  as  in  a mirror,  and,  behold!  my  fine 
attire  had  turned  to  rags,  my  feet  were  shoeless, 
my  beauty  had  departed  and  left  me  a frightful, 
hideous  thing,  too  base  to  live,  too  wicked  to  die. 


406  FATHER  Keenan’s  midnight  mission. 


Oh  ! the  horrible,  horrible  vision  ! But,  oh,  thank 
Heaven,  ’t  was  bat  a dream ! Mother,  mother  I 
tell  me  it  was  only  a dream  ! ” 

She  threw  up  her  arms  in  wild  entreaty,  while  a 
Avave  of  agony  and  suspense  seemed  to  sweep 
OA^er  her  features.  Then,  as  if  suddenly  conscious 
of  the  reality  of  her  situation,  she  sprang  up,  her 
eyes  rolling  Avildly  around  the  wretched  apart- 
ment, as  she  screamed,  — 

" Oh  ! it  is  all  true,  true  ! It  is  no  dream  ! I 
am  the  Avretched,  abject  monster  of  my  fancied 
dream  ! O God,  have  mercy  ! Christ  — Saviour 
— Redeemer  1 Save  me  ! Save  me  ! ” 

Her  rolling  eyes  became  suddenly  fixed.  She 
gasped  for  breath,  threw^  out  her  arms  and 
clutched  at  the  empty  air,  and  then  fell  back  into 
the  arms  of  the  priest,  a corpse  ! 

Such  was  the  untimely  end  of  the  "child  of  the 
scapulars,”  — Mary  Mulligan.  Educated  with  the 
tenderest  care  under  the  nuns  in  a convent  school, 
her  Catholic  teachings,  her  faith  and  devotion  in 
the  scapulars,  her  bead  counting  and  crosses  and 
Agnus  Deis,  availed  her  nothing,  did  not  save 
her  f.  om  a life  of  shame. 

Tenderly  Fathc'r  Keenan  laid  the  inanimate  form 
Uj)on  the  couch,  and,  kneeling,  prayed  long  and 
fei  vently  for  the  repose  of  the  sinful  soul.  The 
city  clocks  struck  again  and  again  the  fleeting 


FATHER  Jerome’s  tragic  fate. 


407 


hours  of  night,  and  still  he  knelt  there,  bowed 
with  a grief  and  sorrow  that  none  but  his  God 
and  his  own  repentant  heart  could  ever  fathom. 
At  last,  recalled  to  the  duties  yet  to  be  performed, 
he  rose,  groped  blindly  for  the  door,  and  passed 
out  into  the  dark  corridor,  still  groping  his  way 
like  one  whose  outward  senses  were  obscured  by 
the  tumult  and  confusion  of  aofitatino:  thoui2:hts. 

Instinct  alone  led  him  to  the  top  of  the  steep 
and  narrow  stairway  ; but  once  there  dark  shadows 
seemed  to  start  out  of  the  obscurity  of  hidden 
nooks  and  corners  of  the  old  house,  and  encom- 
passed him  on  every  side,  while  his  arms  were 
seized  and  a grasp  of  iron  encircled  his  throat. 

Housed  to  reality  by  the>e  unexpected  aggress- 
ors, and  suddenly  remembering  the  warning  words 
of  his  hostess.  Father  Keenan  suddenly  ( xerted 
his  herculean  strength,  with  one  desperate  effort 
shook  himself  clear  of  his  assailants,  and  then 
turned  upon  them  like  a lion  at  bay. 

"Upon  him,  lads  ! ” exclaimed  a coarse  voice, 
which  the  priest  fancied  he  recognized.  " lie  is 
not  armed  ! Hemember  your  oaths  ! Sure  he ’s 
an  enemy  to  the  blissed  howly  Church,  an’  ter 
ivery  true  Catholic,  and  deserves  to  die,  the 
cursed  heretic  ! Now,  are  ye  riddy?  Then,  all 
together,  and  down  wid  him  ! Don’t  ye  be  afeerd  I 
Hemember,  dead  men  tell  no  tales  ! ” 


408  FATHER  Keenan’s  midnight  mission. 

What  could  one  man,  though  a Hercules,  do  in 
that  narrow  passageway,  beset  by  half  a dozen 
desperadoes  eager  for  his  blood?  But  Father 
Keenan  determined  to  sell  his  life  dearly.  As  the 
assassins  threw  themselves  upon  him,  he  struck 
at  them  fiercely,  madly,  as  for  his  life. 

There  ensued  the  sounds  of  a desperate  strug- 
gle ; of  blows  savagely  given  and  furiously  re- 
turned ; of  wild  cries  and  frenzied  oaths.  Then 
came  one  thrilling,  blood-curdling  shriek,  a sound 
as  of  some  heavy  body  falling  headlong,  and  for 
a moment  all  was  silent  as  the  grave. 

Soon,  however,  the  startled  inmates  of  the 
house  came  flocking  in  wild  affright  round  the 
prostrate  form  of  Father  Keenan,  lying  in  a 
bloody  heap  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  He  was 
not  dead,  as  they  at  first  thought.  A physician 
was  called,  restoratives  were  a[)plied,  and  in  a few 
minutes  the  priest  opened  his  eyes. 

”His  lescs  <ire  broken,”  said  the  doctor.  He 
must  be  conveyed  to  the  hospital  at  once.” 

Father  Keenan  feebly  raised  his  hand  to  attract 
attention,  while  in  a low  voice  he  said,  — 

"No,  not  to  the  hospital.  Take  me,  I pray 
you,  to  my  home, — the  only  home  I have,  — Mrs. 
Driscoll’s  house.” 

And,  to  Mrs.  Driscoll’s,  willing  hands  bore  the 
bruised  and  wounded  priest,  and  there  he  lay  for 
many  days  balancing  between  life  and  death. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


DYING  UTTERANCES  OF  THE  SILENCED  PRIEST.  — A MARTYR 
TO  Ills  CONVICTIONS.  — HIS  LIFE  WORK  A FAILURE.  — 
FATHER  LEONARD  AND  KATE  RANSOM. 

"Brother,  we  meet  once  more.” 

So  said  Father  Leonard,  as  he  approached  the 
couch  on  which  Jerome  Keenan  lay.  He  spoke  in 
a kind  and  sympathetic  tone,  and  the  sick  man 
turned  his  head  and  looked  at  his  unexpected 
visitor  with  surprise.  At  first  he  did  not  recog- 
nize Leonard. 

"Ah!  It  is  you,  sir?”  he  said,  as  he  recalled 
the  face  and  person  of  his  former  antagonist  in  the 
interview  held  in  the  cell. 

Father  Keenan  was  evidently  a very  sick  man. 
Still,  for  a day  or  two  past  he  had  been  nearly  free 
from  pain.  His  fractured  limbs  had  been  skil- 
fully set,  the  shock  of  his  fall  had  told  on  a system 
weakened  and  enfeebled  by  long  indulgence  in  in- 
tern, )erate  habits,  and  it  was  plain  that  he  was  not 
long  for  this  world.  ^ 

But  his  spirits  seemed  to  rise  superior  to  bodily 
ills  His  eye  was  as  bright  and  flashing  as  ever, 
and  the  old  energy  of  soul  gleamed  therein,  un- 
quenched and  unsubdued. 


410  DYING  UTTERANCES  OF  THE  SILENCED  PRIEST. 


''  I Ringlad  to  see  you,  Father  Leonard,”  he  said, 
reaching  out  his  h ind  to  clasp  that  of  his  visitor. 
"To  what  do  I owe  the  pleasure  and  good  fortune 
of  this  visit?  ” 

"I  learned  only  to-day  of  your  grievous  acci- 
dent,” Leonard  replied,  seating  himself  by  the 
bedside,  "and  hurried  here  in  hopes  that  I might 
be  of  service  to  you  in  yonr  extremity.” 

"It  was  worthy  of  a Christian  spirit.  Father,  for 
you  thus  to  seek  me,  for  I gave  you  but  harsh 
treatment  on  our  previous  meeting,”  said  the  sick 
man,  pressing  his  visitor’s  hand. 

"Your  words  encourage  me  to  hope  for  you, 
brother,”  said  Leonard,  gently,  " sorrow  and  [)ain 
have  at  last  opened  your  mind  to  conviction.” 

" Oh,  my  dear  brother,  I am  dying,  dying  a mar- 
vyr  for  conviction’s  sake.  Nay,  more,  1 have  been 
murdered,  murdered  for  the  old  faith  of  the 
church,’' exclaimed  the  silenced  priest,  as  he  raised 
himself  upon  his  elbow.  " Father,  it  would  seem 
that  heaven  had  sent  you  here  to  receive  my  dying 
testimony.  Since  I have  undertaken  this  holy 
work  of  reform,  and  am  myself  reformed,  i have 
often  longed  to  converse  with  you.  There  are 
m;iny  important  things  concerning  which  I would 
like  to  speak,  but  time  will  not  permit  me  now,  for 
my  life  is  ebbing  fast.” 

"Dear  brother,  while  there’s  life  there’s  hope. 


Ills  LIFE  WORK  A FAILURE. 


411 


But  are  you  able,  are  you  strong  enough  for  much 
conversation?”  inquired  Leonard,  solicitously. 

” Strong  or  not  strong,  I mmt  speak,”  said 
Keenan,  energetical I3"  raising  himself  upon  one 
arm.  ” The  thouo’hts  that  are  burning  within  me 
find  utterance,  and  it  is  to  you  — 3'on, 
Father  Leonard,  of  all  men  living  — that  I must 
-say  them  ! ” 

Leonard  was  greatly  surprised  at  the  vehemence 
of  the  speaker;  but  curious  to  learn  what  was  on 
the  sick  man’s  mind,  he  said  in  a kindly  tone  of 
voice, — 

''Proceed,  my  friend,  I will  listen  with  pleasure. 
P)Ut  I beg  you  will  be  calm,  for  much  excitement 
will  be  injurious  to  you.” 

"Fear  not,”  said  the  sick  priest;  "I  will  be  as 
calm  as  the  nature  of  my  subjects  will  permit. 
Father,”  he  continued  impressively,  "these  sub- 
jects are  of  vital  importance  to  you,  to  me,  and  to 
every  citizen  of  this  free  land.” 

Leonard  now  com-^rehended  something  of  what 
Father  Keenan  had  in  view,  and,  as  of  old,  the 
rigid  Catholic  priest  braced  himself  for  what  he 
foiesaw  bade  fair  to  be  a powerful  contest. 

Proceed,  brother,”  was  all  he  said. 

"First,  I wish  to  speak  on  the  school  question, 
— the  school  as  it  is  viewed  from  a Roman  Cath- 
olic and  a national  standpoint,”  said  Keenan. 


412  DYING  UTTERANCES  OF  THE  SILENCED  PRIEST. 


"What  is  your  first  thought?”  said  Leonard. 
"The  parish  school  question,  Father.  America 
is  a great  country,  a glorious  country.  Its  free 
schools  have  been  the  boast  and  pride  of  all  the 
world.  Yet  you  of  all  men  arc  the  most  formida- 
ble to  break  them  down.  You  have  more  weight 
with  the  Pope  than  the  archbishop.  He  is  slow, 
and  hesitates  to  undermine  American  institutions, 
lie  was  educated  in  free  schools,  and  knows  their 
worth.  But  you  are  their  bitterest  enemy,  and  you 
have  the  Pope  to  back  you.  Now  I love  America  ! 
Oh,  how  I love  it ! It  is  the  freest,  grandest 
country  on  the  globe  ! Asylum  for  the  exiled  and 
op[)i*essed  of  all  nations  ! How  can  we  as  Catholics 
abuse  our  privileges  and  betray  our  country?” 
"But  public  schools  are  Godless,”  said  Leonard. 
"Yes,  and  who  made  them  so?  You  have  ban- 
ished the  Bible  from  the  schools,  sought  in  every 
way  to  demoralize  th.^m  and  degrade  them,  and 
now  call  them  hotbeds  of  licentiousness ! All 
this  to  build  up  your  worthless  parish  schools  ! ” 
"Our  schools  are  not  worthless.  They  teach 
both  the  spiritual  and  the  secular.” 

"Just  so.  Too  much  piety  and  devotion,  prayers 
every  half-hour,  and  too  little  common-sense. 
Too  many  Ave  Marias,  too  little  geography  and 
arithmetic.  Bead-counting  is  not  a moral  force  in 
this  age  of  enlightenment  and  progress.”  • 


HIS  LIFE  WORK  A FAILURE. 


413 


" Bead-counting,  as  3^011  call  it,  has  sent  many  a 
saint  to  heaven.  Better  that  a child  should  know 
his  catechism,  repeat  the  Holy  Rosaiy,  even  if  he 
roam  the  streets  in  idleness  and  grow  up  in  igno- 
rance, rather  than  he  should  attend  Godless  free 
schools  and  become  a heretic.” 

" So  you  would  have  a child  grow  up  vicious  and 
ignorant  in  order  to  preserve  him  in  the  faith.  No 
matter  about  the  burden  to  the  State  and  society 
afterwards  from  his  being  a criminal  or  pauper ; it 
is  all  right  if  he  only  clings  to  his  faith  in  the  effi- 
cacy of  holy  water  and  holds  to  his  reverence  for 
the  immaculate  priesthood.  And  as  for  the  here- 
tics, as  you  are  pleased  to  term  them,  they  have 
rescued  the  world  from  superstition  and  i\‘deemed 
it  from  barbarism,”  rising  up  in  his  bed  and 
strikins:  out  with  vehemence. 

" What  next  is  on  your  mind  ? ” 

"Politics,  my  dear  brother.  The  Irish  and  the 
Catholics  have  almost  invariablj^  voted  for  lax- 
ness, lawlessness,  and  free  rum.  Never  was  the 
native-born  population  so  given  over  to  crime 
as  now  ! Puritan  rigidness  has  given  way  to  Irish 
laxity.  The  whole  nation  is  in  peril ! All  this 
through  Catholic  rule  in  large  cities.” 

" Veiy  well,  would  not  the  Church  redeem  the 
State  if  it  had  supreme  control?  ” 

"No,  never!  In  no  nation  on  earth  where  the 
Church  has  been  supreme  have  good  morals  pre- 


414  DYING  UTTERANCES  OF  THE  SILENCED  PRIEST. 


vailed.  Look  at  France,  Spain,  Italy,  and  Ire- 
land ! Oh,  sir,  I beseech  you,  pause  before  you 
provoke  a contest  that  is  to  engulf  both  Church 
and  State  ! ” 

But  the  Church  is  superior  to  the  State.” 

''  Xo  ! no  ! without  the  State  there  is  no  Church. 
If  the  Church  murders  the  State,  it  kills  its  own 
parent.  Think,  sir.  of  what  you  are  doing  ! ” 

"But  the  Church  deals  with  eternity,  not  with 
time  alone.” 

" Ah  ! yes,  but  it  is  time  that  shapes  our  eterni- 
ties ; it  is  the  State  that  moulds  our  fate,  both  for 
time  and  eternity.” 

" What  hold  would  the  Church  have  upon  the 
mass  of  the  illiterate  if  your  doctrines  were  to 
prevail  ?”  asked  Leonard,  vehemently. 

" Better  to  have  no  hold  at  all  than  to  teach  a 
lie,”  said  Keenan,  lifting  his  hand  excitedly.  If 
ignorance  is  still  to  be  the  mother  of  devotion, 
then  l)anish  both  ignorance  and  devotion.” 

"Then  you  would  banish  reli^iion  from  the 
earth?” 

"No!  no!  not  religion,  but  superstition.  Be- 
liirion  must  not  antasronize  itself  against  science. 
The  Pope  must  not  issue  his  bulls  against  educa- 
tion nor  declare  that  the  sun  revolves  around  the 
world  ” 

" But  the  Pope  will  now  foster  science,  he  is 
soon  to  open  the  Vatican  libraries  to  the  world.’ 


ms  LIFE  WORK  A FAILURE. 


415 


”Yes!  yes!  And  when  he  does,  papal  inhilli- 
l)ility  and  papal  dogmas  will  go  to  the  wall,  as 
sure  as  day  follows  night”;  seizing  his  crutch 
and  raising  himself  in  bed. 

" Well,  sir,  as  you  are  a very  sick  man,  I sup- 
pose I must  bear  with  you,”  said  Leonard, 
mildly. 

• " Yes,  Father,  bear  with  me,  for  this  is  my  last 
appeal  for  my  country  and  my  church.  Look  at 
the  fruits  of  your  own  parish  school,  the  most 
noted  of  the  State.  See  your  pupils  rush  into 
vice  like  sheep  to  the  slaughter.  Why  is  it? 
First,  they  have  been  taught  that  devotion,  no 
matter  whether  true  or  false,  is  superior  to  sci- 
ence and  to  common-sense.  Then  they  have 
been  coerced  into  devotion  by  all  physical  means. 
They  have  been  stripped  and  lashed  with  the  rattan 
again  and  again  before  the  whole  school,  except 
the  female  teachers,  who  were  ordered  to  modestly 
retire,  while  the  curate  held  the  heels  of  the  lad 
across  the  desk,  and  the  master  held  his  head  and 
laid  on  the  rod. 

"Again.  There  is  a boy  placed  in  a box  in  the 
yard,  his  head  sticking  out  like  an  imprisoned 
rooster.  Placed  there  for  the  boys  to  hoot  at  and 
ridicule.  And  for  what?  Because  he  had  showed 
a preference  for  the  free  public  school,  and  had 
for  once  attended  a Protestant  meeting. 


41 G DYING  UTTERANCES  OF  THE  SILENCED  PlilEST. 


"Another  scene.  There  are  two  boys  walking 
the  yard  placarded  like  a turkey  with  a shingle 
tied  upon  its  back  to  prevent  it  from  flying  over 
the  fence.  What  have  these  boys  done?  Why, 
forsooth,  for  one  time  only  on  a Sunday  afternoon 
they  had  attended  a INIoody  and  San  key  meeting  ! 
Now  they  are  compelled  to  wear  the  pasteboards 
upon  their  backs,  in  school  and  out  of  school,  all 
day  long,  one  marked  ' Moody,’  the  other  ' San- 
key,’  to  invite  the  butts  and  gibes  of  a ril)ald 
mob.  And  this  in  free  America,  and  in  the  name 
of  religion. 

"Look  at  your  own  conduct,  in  breaking  open 
the  door  and  caning  young  men,  and  throwing  a 
spittoon  at  their  heads,  because  they  dared  to  open 
a debating  club  without  a priest.  Look  at  the 
brutality  aroused ! No  wonder  that  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  breeds  an  army  of  pugilists  ! ” 

" Hold  ! Hold  ! Who  told  you  this  ^ ” 

" No  matter,  I take  it  from  the  public  print. 
Hear  me.  Mike  Dolan  was  dying.  He  asked 
your  curate  to  administer  the  sacrament  of  ex- 
treme unction.  The  curate  objected  because  Mike 
had  persistently  refused  to  send  his  children  to  the 
parochial  school.  Protestant  friends  labored 
with  the  sick  man  and  implored  him  to  accede  to 
the  demands  of  the  priest,  that  he  might  die  in 
peace  and  have  a Christian  burial. 


ms  LIFE  WORK  A FAILURE. 


417 


"At  last  the  dying  man  consented  to  take  his 
children  from  die  public  school.  He  sent  for  you. 
What  was  your  resjionse?  Why,  sir,  you  pur- 
posely delayed  and  tarried  until  you  knew  the 
poor  sick  dying  man  must  necessarily  be  a corpse. 
And  this  is  Roman  Catholic  Christianity.  Heaven 
save  the  mark  ! ” 

"A  free  press  is  the  curse  of  this  country.  Its 
statements  are  false,  yet  you  believe  them.” 

"So  you  go  by  newspa[)er  notices?” 

"Yes,  Father,  because  they  are  true.  If  they 
had  been  hilse,  you  would  have  sued  the  proprietor 
for  liliel  Ions:  asro.  Still  bear  with  me  a moment 
longer.  I am  burdened  with  the  divorce  question. 
You  have  gone  up  and  down  the  land  decrying 
the  New  England  divorce  system.  Now  I ask  in 
all  candor,  if  legal  marriage,  though  it  be  con- 
tinued but  six  months,  is  not  better  than  Catholic 
concubinage?  Look  at  the  appalling  state  of 
affairs  brought  on  by  Catholic  rule  ! 

"The  Roman  Catholic  Church  is  at  war  with 
every  New  England  institution.  It  declares  that 
no  marriage  is  binding  without  the  priest.  Once 
married  there  is  no  divorce,  for  marriage  is  a sac- 
rament. What  is  the  effect?  Why,  New  Eng- 
land is  filled  with  marital  demoralization  ! Never  ! 
never ! has  such  unchaslity  ever  prevailed  in  the 
community  before  ! 

"Two  thirds  of  the  libertines  and  cyprians  of 


418  DYING  UTTERANCES  OF  THE  SILENCED  PRIEST. 


Boston  are  Catholics,  and  many  of  them  the  grad- 
uates of  jjarish  schools. 

''  Catholic  France  is  introduced  to  New  England, 
and  New  England  is  struck  with  horror.  The 
brazen  face  of  open,  unblushing  licentiousness  is 
simply  a})palling  ! And  tiiis  through  the  church, 
the  so-called  organ  of  matchless  purity  ! 

'"Soon,  through  Catholic  influence  in  politics,  we 
will  have  licentiousness  licenc  ed  the  same  as  in  the 
capital  city  of  The  eldest  daughter  of  the  church.’ 

" How  long  do  you  think  the  free,  enlightened 
American  citizen  will  stand  such  mockery  of  reli- 
gion and  morality?  1 tremble  for  the  fate  of  the 
church  when  America  shall  be  aroused,  as  France 
has  been  aroused,  to  expel  the  Jesuits.  Oh,  sir, 
1 beg  you  to  pause  ! No  more  endeavor  to  break 
down  the  grand  institutions  of  this  free  country  ! 
They  are  the  grandest,  freest,  noblest,  the  world 
ever  saw  ! Pause,  I beseech  you,  and  consider 
ere  you  awaken  a thunderbolt  that  shall  demolish 
the  entire  Koman  Catholic  hierarchy  on  this  con- 
tinent.” 

Father  Leonard  was  about  to  reply,  when  sud- 
denly his  former  ward  and  pupil,  Kate  Kansom, 
rushed  into  the  room.  She  was  no  more  Kate 
Kansom,  but  the  honored  wife  of  Mike  Lawler. 
Her  excited  manner  indicated  that  she  had  some- 
thing weighty  upon  her  mind. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


FATHER  KEENAN  AND  LITTLE  KATIE.  — A LAST  FARE- 
WELL.  THE  SILENT  WATCHER. 

''  An  ! ” cried  Father  Leonard  Ah  ! I see 
Kate  Ransom  ! ” as  she  entered  Father . Keenan’s 
room.  "So  we  meet  again,  my  pupil  and  my 
penitent,”  reaching  out  his  hand. 

"Hold!  hold,  sir  I You  are  mistaken.  I am 
neither  your  pupil  nor  your  penitent,”  replied 
Mrs.  Lawler,  gravely.  "I  suppose  you  call  me 
* Kate  Ransom  ’ because  I was  married  by  a Prot- 
estant. I am  not  Kate  Ransom,  sir,  but  the  wife 
of  Michael  Lawler.” 

Kate  was  no  more  the  cringing  slave,  a suppli- 
ant at  the  confessional,  but  a noble,  upright, 
self-reliant,  God-inspired  woman,  a miracle  of 
independent  free  thought ; a prodigy,  perhaps, 
such  as  education  and  contact  with  the  world  alone 
develop. 

" Sick  and  in  prison,  sir,”  she  continued,  " and 
ye  visited  me  not.  Where  was  your  promise, 
your  Jesuitical  promise  ? Ah,  sir  I nothing  but 
breaking  from  convent  walls  saved  me  from  utter 
degradation.” 


420  FATHER  KEENAN  AND  LITTLE  KATIE. 

”Aik1  so  you  prefer  domestic  duties,  the  em- * 
brace  of  a husliand,  and  the  rearing  of  children, 
to  a holy  convent  life,”  said  Father  Leonard,  with 
a sneer. 

" Yes,  sir.  I prefer  to  be  useful  to  my  genera- 
tion and  my  race,  not  to  be  a recluse  or  a beggar 
or  a l)urden  ; and  I hope  to  keep  myself  unspotted 
from  the  world.” 

"Just  as  if  a convent  life  were  not  the  purest 
on  earth.” 

" Convent  life  ! convent  life  ! ” said  Kate,  ex- 
citedly. " Don’t  tempt  me  too  far.  Father  1 I 
could  tell  you  a tale  of  convent  life  that  would 
make  your  very  heart  bleed.  Human  nature,  I 
know,  is  the  same  everywhere,  but  it  is  infinitely 
worse  in  a convent,  where  there  is  no  restraint,  no 
eye  to  detect,  and  no  law  to  punish.” 

" But  in  the  convent  you  had  time  for  medita- 
tion, prayer,  and  devotion.” 

" Yes,  and  I had  time  to  repent,  — repent  of  my 
folly  for  listening  to  your  honeyed  words  and  for 
entering  that  charnel-house  of  despair.” 

" Not  of  despair  but  of  hope,  my  friend.” 

"Yes,  it  may  be  hope  for  some,  — hope  for  the 
guilty  ; but  I have  no  vices  to  atone  for,  no  crimes 
to  hide.” 

" But  I was  as  a father  to  you  when  I watched 
your  erring  feet  that  night  I followed  you  over  the 
bridge  to  the  dance  hall.” 


THE  SILENT  WATCHER. 


421 


” Yes ! yes  ! You  watched,  as  you  have  ever 
watched  and  placed  an  es[)iomige  over  every  pupil 
and  coininuiiicant.  Now,  sir,  I ask  if  watching, 
threatening,  bringing  to  the  rack  of  penance,  shout- 
ing continually  eternal  damnation  to  the  erring,  will 
deter  or  reclaim  them?  No!  no  I You  may  set 
a watch  at  every  gate,  place  a sentinel  over  every 
household,  guard  every  bridge  that  leads  to  Boston, 
still  young  people  will  break  through  any  and 
every  barrier,  if  they  have  no  moral  stamina  at 
heart.  They  must  be  trusted,  not  watched,  must 
be  taught  to  become  self-reliant  and  self-confident. 

O 

You  boast  of  tlie  piety  of  your  pupils.  Why,  sir, 
there  is  not  a school  in  the  State  that  sends  out 
so  many  moral  pests  to  society.  As  a class,  they 
are  pugilistic,  deceptive,  dissipated,  and  dishonest. 
Thank  heaven,  my  child  shall  never  be  exposed 
to  such  induence  I Y^et  you  assert  that  my  little  ‘ 
child  is  illegitimate,  and  that  I am  living  in  sin, 
because,  forsooth,  my  marriage  was  not  blessed  by 
the  Church.  That  doctrine  America  is  invited  to 
accept ; and  that  is  the  chief  floodgate  of  its  sensu- 
ality, — no  marriage  without  a priest  I” 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Michael 
Lawler,  leading  little  Katie,  entered. 

” Ah  ! there  comes  my  husband  now,  leading 
my  little  child,”  continued  Kate.  ” Behold  him, 
my  lawful  husband  I Say,  if  you  dare,  he  is  not 
my  husband  I Tell  me,  if  you  will,  priest  or  no 


422  FATHER  KEENAN  AND  LITTLE  KATIE. 

priest,  that  that  child  is  illegitimate  ! Yet  priests 
by  the  score  in  this  archdiocese  declare,  ' No  mar- 
riage without  a pi-iest.’  No  marital  connection 
without  it  is  sealed  by  the  bond  of  the  Church. 

" I have  raised  my  husband  from  a wreck  of 
dissipation  and  pious  hypocrisy  to  a noble.  God- 
fearing, honest  man.  He  may  not  sprinkle  with 
the  holy  water  as  before,  he  may  not  wear  the 
scapular,  he  may  not  recite  the  rosary  as  of  old, 
nor  carry  a pair  of  beads ; neither  does  he  attend 
the  confessional ; but  a purer,  nobler,  more  gen- 
erous-hearted and  benevolent  man  does  not  walk 
the  earth.” 

"This  is  very  high  praise,”  said  Leonard,  sarcas- 
tically, and  turned  away.  He  saw  further  discus- 
sion would  be  useless.  All  eyes  were  now  turned 
on  the  dying  priest.  Father  Keenan  had  suddenly 
perceived  little  Katie  and  her  father,  and  beck- 
oned them  toward  the  bed. 

Michael  approached,  leading  the  child. 

"And  this,  — this  is  your  child,  Michael,”  said 
Father  Keenan,  as  he  stroked  Katie’s  fair  hair,  and 
looked  into  her  innocent,  angelic  blue  eyes. 
"Oh,  if  I had  had  such  a child  as  this  to  call  me 
father,  to  press  to  my  lonely  heart,  to  hear  her 
sweet  voice  prattling  in  my  ear,  to  feel  her  little 
arms  around  my  neck,  and  know  that  one  heart 
beat  with  sympathetic  throb  for  me ! Oh,  for 
such  a child  as  this,  whose  smile  would  be  as  the 


THE  SILENT  WATCHER. 


423 


sunlight  of  heaven  to  my  desolate  heart,  whose 
voice  would  seem  like  strains  of  seraphic  melody, 
whose  gentle  look  would  warm  and  melt  a frozen 
bosom  with  sympathetic  tears  I ” 

Ilis  voice  faltered,  his  eyes  grew  dim  and  misty, 
lie  put  his  tremlding  arms  around  the  wondering 
child,  and,  gently  as  a mother  might  do,  drew  her 
golden  head  upon  his  breast. 

" Oh,  my  darling  little  one  ! ” he  murmured. 
” God  has  surely  sent  you,  like  one  of  his  blessed 
angels,  like  an  angel  of  peace  and  love  and  hope, 
to  cheer  and  comfort  my  soul.  Thou  art  indeed 
lovely  as  a dream  of  paradise.  Innocence,  truth, 
purity  are  enshrined  in  thine  infantine  face.  The 
saints  are  truly  [)ictured  with  the  light  l)orrowed 
from  an  inhint’s  countenance.  The  passions  have 
no  trace  in  thy  clear  eyes,  no  mark  upon  thy  brow, 
no  sign  upon  thy  cherub  lips.  Of  such,  of  such 
indeed,  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Bend  thy 
sweet  eyes  upon  me,  my  angel  child.  I am  a 
dying  man,  doomed  soon  to  close  my  eyes  upon 
all  this  earthy  scene.  Oh ! that  they  might  rest 
in  their  last  fleeting  glimpse  upon  such  as  thou 
art,  and  carry  into  the  other  world  a vision  so 
sweet,  so  pure,  and  holy.  Kiss  me,  my  child. 
Give  Father  Keenan  one  parting  kiss  of  farewell.” 
The  obedient  child  softly  pressed  her  lips  to 
those  of  the  dying  priest.  He  held  her  in  his 
arms  for  a few  moments,  then  released  her,  and 


424  FATHER  KEEXAX  AND  LITTLE  KATIE. 

Bignified  his  wish  to  ho  alone.  They  saw  that  he 
was  wearied  and  nearly  exhausted,  and  required 
rest,  and  so  they  took  a silent  farewell  of  the 
dying  man,  and  Father  Keenan  was  left  alone  to 
his  own  thou<^hts. 

Sad,  gloomy,  heart-depressing  indeed  were 
those  thoughts.  He  knew  that  he  was  dying, 
knew  that  a few  brief  hours  more  and  the  flicker- 
ing spark  of  his  life  would  be  spent.  To  die  thus, 
in  a hovel  of  misery,  in  abject  poverty,  in  a 
room  where  dark  and  putrid  exhalations  hung 
about  the  walls,  where  horrid  cries  and  drunken 
yells  ascended  from  below,  and  the  wind  whistled 
and  shrieked  through  countless  crannies  and  crev- 
ices, — to  die  thus  and  alone,  without  a relative  or 
fricmd  to  hear  his  last  moan,  — oh,  it  was  terrible  ! 
terrilde  ! In  the  midst  of  these  bitter  reflections 
Father  Keenan  fell  into  a fitful  slumber. 

Hours  passed,  the  day  wore  on,  night  fell,  and 
still  the  priest  slumbered.  Opening  his  eyes  at 
last,  after  one  of  those  fevered  dreams  that  haunt 
the  sleep  of  the  dying.  Father  Keenan  glanced 
around  the  room.  A candle’s  feeble  ray  but  faint- 
ly dispelled  the  gloom  of  the  apartment.  The  dis- 
tant corners  were  dark  with  shadow.  A pall,  sug- 
gestive of  that  pall  of  death  which  soon  would  en- 
wrap his  mortal  frame,  seemed  to  brood  and  hover 
over  everything  within  the  chamber,  and  suddenly 
his  wandering  gaze  was  transfixed,  as  it  were,  by 


THE  SILENT  WATCHER. 


425 


the  sight  of  an  object  that  seemed  to  arise  out  of 
the  gloom,  as  night  sprang  from  chaos.  It  liore 
the  outline  of  a human  figure,  a figure  black- 
robed  and  hooded,  seated  silent  and  motionless 
beyond  the  radius  of  the  candlelight. 

Who  was  it?  What  was  the  strange  person 
doinsr  here  ? 

The  priest’s  sudden  movement  as  he  raised  him- 
self slightly  caused  the  figure  to  rise  and  softly 
glide  toward  the  bed.  It  bent  over  him,  and  then 
he  saw  it  was  a woman  dressed  in  the  black  robes 
of  a nun. 

" Father,  what  do  you  wish  ? ” 

Ha  ! The  tones  of  that  voice  ! How  familiar 
they  sounded  ! He  uttered  a slight  cry,  and  then 
caught  sight  of  the  pale,  beautiful  face,  with  the 
white  band  of  her  order  across  the  forehead. 

"Heavenly  Father!”  he  cried.  "Can  it  be? 
Am  I dreaming?  Is  this  but  a dream  of  the 
night?  Speak  to  me,  I implore  you!  Are  you 
indeed  Marie,  my  boyhood’s  love,  the  idol  of  my 
youthful  heart,  Marie  Me  Shea  ? ” 

" Yes,  Jerome,  it  is  she  who  once  was  known 
by  that  name,”  she  answered,  in  a low  voice  that 
was  tremulous  with  emotion. 

The  sick  priest  tried  to  speak,  but  for  a few 
moments  his  voice  was  choked.  Unutterable 
thoughts  surged  through  his  mind.  He  had 
taken  the  nun’s  cold  hand,  and  with  it  pressed 


426  FATHER  KEENAN  AND  LITTLE  KATIE. 

within  ])oth  his  own,  gazed  with  mournful  long- 
ing upon  the  once-loved,  nay  madly  worshipped 
face.  It  was  still  a very  beautiful  face,  but  pallid 
as  marble  from  the  rigorous  prayers  and  fastings 
of  an  ascetic’s  life.  About  the  dark  eyes  were 
purple  circles,  and  one  needed  but  a glance  to  see 
that  life  with  her  was  but  a weary  burden,  and 
that  she  would  only  too  gladly  hail  the  day  of  her 
eternal  emancipation.  The  priest  read  all  this  as 
plainly  as  if  it  were  a printed  page,  and  his  eyes 
filled  and  his  voice  shook  with  feeling  as  he  mur- 
mured in  broken  tones,  — 

" Marie  ! Marie  ! Is  it  thus  we  meet  again  ? 
Is  it  thus  I see  your  dear  countenance,  stricken 
with  grief  and  sorrow?  O Heavenly  Father, 
forgive  me  the  sin  and  wickedness  of  my  life  ! 
But  oh,  above  all  else,  pardon  and  forgive  me 
for  my  wrongs  toward  this  dear  one ! Yes, 
Marie,”  he  continued,  with  a burst  of  strong  emo- 
tion, " I,  I am  the  wretched  cause  of  the  sorrows 
and  misery  I see  written  in  your  countenance. 
The  years  of  agony,  the  long  torture  of  soul  which 
I know  you  have  suffered  and  endured,  sprung 
from  your  love  of  my  unworthy  self.  Nay,  you 
must  not  deny  it,  you  shall  not ! I had  no  right  to 
win  your  love,  unless  I had  fulfilled  my  vows,  thrown 
ort‘  the  shackles  of  the  church,  and  made  you  my 
loved  and  honored  wife.  Oh,  that  terrible,  terri- 
ble mistake  of  my  life  ! Oh,  that  I had  but  asserted 


THE  SILENT  WATCHER. 


427 


my  manhood,  despised  the  seductive  reasoning  of 
my  superiors,  and  made  you  mine  ! How  differ- 
ent then  would  have  been  the  story  of  our  lives  ! 
I see  you  by  my  side  a ha[)py  wife,  mother  of  my 
children,  our  home  an  altar  of  love  and  peace 
and  happiness,  and  you  and  me  in  our  declining 
years  leaning  upon  each  other  with  the  trust,  the 
hope,  the  comfort  of  a holy,  heaven-inspired  love, 
while  our  children  grew  up  around  us  and  blessed 
us  daily  with  their  confidence  and  love.  Such  the 
picture  which  might  have  been  a sweet  and  blessed 
reality.  Instead  of  that,  what  do  I see?  ” he  con- 
tinued, with  quavering  voice.  " An  old  man, 
broken  by  sin  and  crushed  by  misfortune,  dying 
in  this  den  of  misery,  a desolate,  homeless,  heart- 
sick old  man,  weary  of  life,  ])raying  for  death ,‘ 
every  plan  and  dream  of  life  an  utter  and  hope- 
less ruin  ! ” 

He  paused  in  agitation,  and  the  nun,  no  less 
deeply  moved,  forgetting  in  the  stirrings  of  nat- 
ural feelings  all  the  lessons  of  her  conventual 
training,  bowed  her  head  upon  his  hands  and  gave 
way  to  a flood  of  bitter  tears. 

"Jerome!  dear  Jerome!”  she  murmured,  at 
length,  amid  her  sobs.  "You  wring  my  very 
soul ! Oh,  think  not  of  the  past ! Let  not  your 
mind  dwell  on  the  vanities  of  earth  in  this  solemn 
moment ; think  only  of  the  future,  of  God’s  glorious 


428  FATHER  KEENAN  AND  LITTLE  KATIE. 

promises,  of  the  blissful  life  that  is  opening  to 
your  feet,  — that  eternal  life  where  sorrows  never 
come  and  the  weary  are  at  rest ! I heard  that 
you  were  ill,  ill  unto  death,  and  God  whispered  to 
my  lieart  that  my  place  was  here  l)y  your  side. 
Though  in  life  we  have  been  separated,  yet  in 
death  we  shall  be  united.  Yes,  dearest  Jerome, 
I feel,  I know,  that  my  days  too  are  surely  num- 
l)ered,  and  that  I shall  not  linger  long  after  you 
are  taken  away  ; but  I fled  here,  — fled  from  my 
convent  cell,  — to  ask  your  forgiveness.  I fear  I 
have  led  you  to  your  ruin ; but  for  my  conduct  in 
your  church,  but  for  my  insane  denunciation  that 
day,  you  would  now  perhaps  have  been  an  hon- 
ored priest.  Oh,  I knew  not  what  I did  ! I must 
have  been  mad,  crazed  ! Say  that  you  forgive 
me,  Jerome  ! on  my  knees  I ask  it.”  And  she 
knelt  by  the  bedside  and  raised  her  clasped  hands 
toward  him. 

” I forgive  you  freely,  my  poor  Marie,”  said  the 
dying  man,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak.  ” And  now 
I feel  that  death  draws  near.  Stay  with  me, 
Marie  ! Promise  that  you  will  not  leave  until  I 
am  at  rest.  Oh,  let  my  eyes  at  the  last  see  your 
dear  face  and  yours  alone  ! ” 

She  gave  the  required  promise,  and  then  a deep 
silence  fell  in  that  chamber  of  death. 


CHAPTER  XL. 


THE  PASSING  SOUL.  FATHER  KEENAN’s  DREAM  OF 

REFORM.  THE  LAST  OF  EARTH. 

The  city  clocks  strike  one  ! 

The  first  hour  of  another  day  has  passed  into 
the  great  gulf  of  time.  All  has  remained  un- 
changed in  Father  Keenan’s  chamber ; all,  except 
that  the  single  candle  is  gradually  wasting  away,  like 
the  life-spark  of  the  dying  priest,  and  steadily  yet 
surely  nearing  its  end.  Shadows  still  cling  aliout 
the  corners  of  the  room,  and  spread  pall-like 
across  the  dingy  ceiling,  and  hover  black  and 
threatening,  as  the  light  wanes  and  flickers  from 
some  draught  of  air,  over  the  couch  of  the  dying 
man,  and  still  that  hooded,  black-robed  figure  main- 
tains her  sleepless  vigil,  silent,  motionless,  except 
that  now  and  then  she  noiselessly  tells  her  beads, 
and  her  lips  move  in  voiceless  prayer  for  the  com- 
fort and  peace  of  the  passing  soul. 

As  the  stroke  of  the  hour  reverberates  thromjh 
the  room  Father  Keenan  stirred  uneasily  on  his 
couch.  The  nun  was  quickly  at  the  bedside. 

" AJi ! It  is  you,  Marie,”  he  murmured,  feebly, 


430 


THE  PASSING  SOUL. 


as  a grateful  smile  flickered  wanly  over  his  face. 
"You  are  still  here,  my  faithful  Marie.” 

"1  shall  never  leave  you,  Jerome,”  she  simply 
said,  and  passed  her  hand  caressingly  over  his 
face,  smoothing  his  disordered  hair,  and  brushing 
it  ])ack  from  the  l)road  forehead.  " Do  you  want 
for  anything,  Jerome  ? ” 

He  shook  his  head  and  feebly  moved  his  hand 
towards  hers,  gently  taking  it  in  his. 

" Nothing  but  this,  Marie,”  he  said  in  response, 
pressing  her  hand.  " I am  quite  content  and  free 
from  pain.  Do  not  leave  me.  Let  me  hold  your 
hand  thus,  and  1 shall  soon  sleep  again.” 

She  silently  acquiesced,  and  the  priest’s  eyes 
once  more  closed.  Fancying  him  asleep,  Marie  at 
length  gently  sought  to  withdraw  her  hand,  but  his 
clasp  tightened  and  he  opened  his  eyes,  saying, — 
" I am  not  asleep,  jMarie,  I am  thinking,  — 
thinking  of  you  and  of  your  future.” 

" Take  no  thought  of  me,  Jerome,”  she  answered  : 
" my  future  is  in  the  hands  of  God ; He  will 
provide.” 

Father  Keenan  reverently  bowed  his  head  and 
repeated,  "Yes,  Pie  will  provide.” 

Again  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  this  time  slept. 
The  nun  once  more  resumjdher  place,  again  noise- 
lessly told  her  beads,  and  her  lips  moved  in  voice- 
less prayer;  and  the  ca  idle  flickered  and  splut- 


FATHER  Keenan’s  dream  of  reform.  431 


lered,  and  grotesque  shapes  and  figures  darted  out 
of  the  dim  corners  and  waved  their  dark  shadows 
across  the  dingy  ceiling,  hovering  as  before  over 
the  couch  of  the  dying  man. 

"One— two!” 

Hark  I another  hour  has  flown,  another  step 
towards  eternity,  where  neither  time  is,  nor  sick- 
ness, pain,  nor  death. 

" Marie!” 

The  voice  and  the  sliMit  movement  he  makes 

O 

bring  the  silent  watcher  instantly  to  the  dying 
man’s  side. 

" 1 am  here,  Jerome,  still  here,”  she  says. 

Still  another  stroke  of  the  hour  — " one  — two 
three  ! ” and  another  still  — " one  — two  — three 
— four  ! ” 

]\Iore  dimly  now  the  candle  burns,  darker,  with 
gathering  shadows,  grows  the  death-chamber,  and 
more  feebly  flickers  the  nearly  spent  flame  of  life 
in  Jerome  Keenan’s  bosom.  He  turns  slightly 
and  tosses  his  arms  restlessly  in  his  sleep,  his  lips 
moving  as  if  trying  to  speak,  though  no  sound 
issues  from  them.  The  touch  of  his  watcher’s 
hand,  gentle  as  it  is,  aroused  him,  and  he  opens 
his  eyes  so  quickly  and  suddenly  that  he  per- 
ceives her  eyes  are  streaming  with  tears  before 
she  can  turn  aside  her  head  to  conceal  them. 

"You  are  weeping,  Marie,”  he  says,  reproach- 


432 


THE  PASSING  SOUL. 


fully.  ” Niiy>  this  is  not  well.  Kather,  you 
should  rejoice,  as  I do,  and  thank  a merciful 
Father  that  lie  has  given  me  that  joy  and  peace 
which  passeth  understanding. 

''Yes,  Marie,  dear  one,”  he  continued,  passing 
one  arm  around  her  neck,  and  drawing  her  closer 
to  him,  his  voice  seeming  to  grow  temporarily 
stronger,  ” yes,  my  dear  one,  the  summons  for 
me  has  come.  I feel  that  the  end  is  near,  — very 
near.  Hark  I ” he  added,  partially  raising  himself 
in  a listening  attitude,  "the  dawn  is  approaching. 
I hear  already  the  stir  and  bustle  in  the  streets. 
Hark!  what  is  that  strange,  rushing  sound?  It 
fills  my  brain  as  when  a child  I used  to  place  a 
sea-shell  to  my  ear  and  my  sainted  mother  would 
tell  me  the  hollow  noise  1 heard  was  the  ebbing 
and  flowing  of  the  tide.  Ah  ! the  tide  is  going  out, 
Marie,  — the  tide  of  my  life,  — and  is  flowing,  like 
all  human  life,  on,  on,  soon  to  mingle  in  the  great 
ocean  of  eternity  ! 

"Yes,”  he  continued,  after  a short  silence,  "I 
am  resigned  to  die.  Life  has  long  since  been 
stripped  of  its  illusions  to  my  eyes.  I have  had 
my  joys,  my  sorrows,  my  vain  ambitions ; and 
oh  ! how  trivial,  how  small  and  insignificant  they 
seem  at  this  moment ! And  yet,  Marie,  if  it  had 
pleased  God,  I would  have  liked  to  live  a little 
longer  for  the  one,  last  darling  purpose  of  my  soul ; 


FATHER  Keenan’s  dream  of  reform.  433 


to  see  the  later  etforts  of  my  life  crowned  with  suc- 
cess ; to  see  the  poor,  the  down-trodden,  and  op- 
pressed freed  from  the  shackles  of  sin,  raised  from 
the  mire  of  corruption,  and  uplifted  to  a higher 
and  nobler  plane  of  manhood  and  of  womanhood. 

” Oh,  that  I could  have  seen  some  signs  that 
my  efforts  were  bearing  fruit ; that  my  weak  and 
feeble  strivings  to  reform  the  church  of  my  love 
had  prevailed,  the  church  in  which  I was  bred, 
the  priesthood  with  whom  I claim  brotherhood, 
although  it  has  traduced  and  reviled  me,  and  per- 
secuted me  to  the  death.  But  that  is  all  in  God’s 
hands.  In  His  own  good  time  the  work  of  right- 
eousness  will  be  accomplished . Some  other  instru- 
ment of  divine  purpose  will  be  upraised,  and  the 
work  of  reform  will  continue. 

"Yes,”  he  resumed  again,  starting  up,  and  his 
eyes  gazing  into  vacancy,  while  the  light  of  enthu- 
siasm flashed  over  his  countenance,  " my  eyes 
already  see  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord  ! 
I hear  the  rumbling  of  his  chariot-wheels  ! The 
Lord  of  hosts  is  marshalling  his  angels ! Be- 
hold  the  glittering  array  ! Tremble,  ye  powers  of 
darkness ! Tremble,  ye  who  would  crush  and 
grind  the  souls  of  men  into  the  dust ! The  day  of 
emancipation  is  dawning ! The  glorious  sun  of 
freedom  is  alreadv  rising  above  the  distant  hori- 
zon  ! From  the  tops  of  the  rocks  I see  it ! From 
the  hills  I behold  it ! ” 


434 


THE  PASSING  SOUL. 


The  sun  of  the  new-born  day  was  indeed  rising ; 
its  beams  were  growing  broader  and  brighter,  and 
here  and  there  they  stole  into  that  darkened  cham- 
ber, through  rents  in  the  sha])])y  curtains  or  crev- 
ices of  the  door,  and  showed  a weeping  woman 
upon  her  knees,  her  arm  thrown  caressingly  about 
a rigid  form,  her  head  pillowed  upon  its  pulseless 
bosom,  — a form  stilled,  forever  stilled  in  death’s 
eternal  slumber ! The  summons  had  come,  the 
silver  cord  was  loosened,  and  the  Fallen  Ppjest, 
let  us  hope,  through  Christ’s  promises,  has  risen 
to  a glorious  immortality  ! 

And  as  the  same  golden  orb  of  day  that  bright- 
ened Father  Keenan’s  last  moments  lifts  its  beams 
higher  and  higher  over  harbor,  shore.  State,  and 
nation,  so  may  the  glorious  work  of  reform,  which 
was  the  dream  and  hope  of  his  later  years,  follow 
the  sun  in  its  course,  soothing  every  bruised  and 
stricken  heart,  blessing  the  husbandman  and  the 
mechanic,  the  poor  man  and  the  rich  man,  the  just 
and  the  unjust  alike,  and  every  crushed  soul  bowed 
down  under  the  weight  of  church  despotism, 
church  taxes,  priestly  corruption,  carrying  light 
and  hope  unto  every  mountain-side  and  hill-top 
until  this,  the  grandest,  freest,  richest  nation  on 
earth,  shall  be  forever  redeemed  from  priestly  dic- 
tation and  political  thraldom ! 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WIIY  I WROTE  THE  BOOK.  — REFORM  UPON  THE  TAPIS. 

BISHOP  IRELAND,  OF  ST.  PAUL,  LEADS  THE  VAN.  — ' 

NEW  YORK  SYNOD  FOLLOWS  SUIT. ARCHDIOCESE  OF 

BOSTON  BRINGS  UP  THE  REAR. 

The  reader  asks,  Why  did  you  write  "Boston 
Inside  Out”?  I answer,  To  reform  the  priest- 
hood of  the  Koinan  Catholic  Church.  How? 
By  publishing  to  the  world  their  glaring  hypocrisy, 
guilt,  and  crimes,  until  public  indignation  demands 
reform  or  abdication  ; until  a system  of  trustees  is 
organized  to  hold  church  property,  and  render  an 
account  to  the  State,  like  other  moneyed  corpora- 
tions ; until  rum  and  lotteries  are  abolished  from 
the  church ; until  the  bishops  are  compelled  to 
bring  the  clergy  up  to  a higher  standard  of  morals  ; 
until  politics  and  intrigue  are  eliminated  from  the 
sanctuary  of  God. 

Have  you  succeeded  in  the  least?  Yes, 
beyond  my  most  sanguine  expectations.  Though 
failing  in  health  for  the  last  few  years,  I have 
accomplished  more  for  morality,  humanity,  and 


10 


WIIY  I WROTE  THE  BOOK. 


the  cause  of  religion,  than  in  all  my  life  before, 
lleforin  the  priesthood  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
you  reform  Christendom  ; American  institutions 
are  safe  ; doubtful  Christianity  is  redeemed. 

What  are  your  signs  of  hope?  First,  in  the 
great  West.  In  Iowa,  Minnesota,  and  AVisconsin 
my  hook  of  exposure  went  by  thousands.  There, 
at  the  head-waters  of  the  noble  Mississippi,  starts 
a tide  of  reform  that  sweeps  to  the  'sea,  and  will 
soon  cover  a continent.  There,  by  the  majestic 
falls  of  St.  Anthony,  stands  the  church’s  grandest 
champion  and  hero  for  temperance  and  purity, — 
Bishop  Ireland,  of  St.  Paul.  There  his  voice, 
tuned  by  the  sound  of  the  falling  waters,  thun- 
ders words  of  redemption  for  the  church,  that 
awaken  response  from  ocean  to  ocean. 

Hear  what  he  says  : Our  disgrace  and  our  mis- 

fortune in  America  is  the  number  of  Irish  saloon- 
keepers I blush  for  the  old  race  whenever  I 
walk  alons:  the  streets  of  our  cities,  and  read  over 
the  doorways  Irish  names,  prefacing  so  seldom 
the  words  'Bank,’  'Commission  House,’  'Dry 
Goods  Store,’  so  often  the  words  ' Saloon,’  ' Wines 
and  Liquors,’  ' Imported  Liquors.’  To  what  base 
uses  noble  names  have  come  ! 

"Far  more  than  landlordism  has  intemperance 
impoverished  Ireland.  Fifty-five  millions  of  dol- 
lars spent  in  one  year  for  intoxicating  beverages  1 


EEFORM  UPON  THE  TAPIS. 


11 


Suppress  intoxication  in  Ireland,  and  you  can  close 
the  courts  and  jails,  so  good  are  the  Irish  people 
without  whiskey,  so  bad  with  it. 

"\niat’s  to  be  done?  Our  remedy  is  total 
abstinence.  The  strongest  protest  possible  must 
be  made  against  intemperance : total  abstinence 
is  the  protest.  With  the  priests  of  the  church 
pre-eminently  rests  the  future  of  their  people. 
Heavy  responsibilities  weigh  upon  priests  labor- 
ing amid  Irish  populations.  Will  they  grasp  with 
a firm  hand  their  magnificent  opportunities,  and 
with  unwavering  heart  follow  them  out  to  vic- 
tory?” Again  says  the  Bishop,  "The  saloon- 
keeper has  taken  his  place  among  the  pillars  of 
church  and  society ; therefore  let  no  priest  in  this 
diocese  give  the  sacrament  to  any  bar- tender, 
saloon-keeper,  or  liquor-seller.”  Noble  words  I 
First  battle-cry  of  the  church  I First  cannon- 
boom  that  starts  the  avalanche  ! 

This  is  not  all.  The  New  York  Synod  of  1882, 
under  Cardinal  McCloskey,  has  taken  up  the  re- 
frain. The  clergy  of  that  archdiocese  are  brought 
to  a stand.  They  are  forbidden  to  attend  " horse 
races,”  frequent  " theatres,”  or  witness  " profane 
spectacles.”  They  are  also  prohibited  from  bet- 
ting or  engaging  in  any  kind  of  " gambling  or 
lotteries.”  What  does  the  church  in  Boston  say 
to  that  ? But  the  strongest  resolve  enacted  was 


12 


WHY  I WEOTE  THE  BOOK. 


that  in  relation  to  church  property : "Every  pas- 
tor must  place  on  record  what  property  belongs  to 
the  parish  and  what  to  himself.”  What  do  the 
priests  of  Massachusetts  think  of  that? 

How  about  reform  in  the  archdiocese  of  Bos- 
ton? Well,  there  you ’ve  got  me.  You  see,  the 
archbishop  is  a kind,  good-hearted,  and  pious  man. 
He  never  attends  secular  festivals  or  amusements, 
is  wholly  devoted  to  his  work ; but  he  has  not 
stamina  enough  to  command  obedience,  nor  the 
will-power  so  necessary  to  a powerful  leader.  He 
is  fettered  by  his  surroundings,  he  is  a lamb 
among  wolves.  He  has  too  many  powerful  priests 
whom  he  cannot  control,  too  many  fighting  shep- 
herds whom  he  can  neither  displace  nor  silence 
without  a fight.  He  is  no  warrior. 

For  instance,  here  is  a priest,  rich  and  arrogant, 
yet  addicted  to  nearly  all  the  vices,  — gaming, 
drinking,  licentiousness.  Should  the  bishop  at- 
tempt to  transfer  him,  he  stands  behind  his  rampart 
and  bids  defiance.  He  cannot  be  ousted  without  a 
striioforle.  Too  biof  a whale  for  the  net.  Let  a 
poor  curate  commit  the  same  offences,  he  is  sum- 
moned before  the  bishop’s  council,  deposed  and 
silenced  in  short  order. 

Here  is  another  priest,  building  a costly  church  ; 
he  has  been  building  it  for  years;  collected 
enough  money  to  build  several  churches,  but  no 


REFORM  UPON  THE  TAPIS. 


13 


one  knows  where  it  goes  to.  Nothing  but  the 
basement  of  the  church  finished,  and  the  whole 
ediiice  heavily  mortgaged  at  that.  He  can  go  to 
Europe,  however,  almost  every  season,  and  spend 
in  riotous  living  on  the  Continent  the  hard-earned 
dollars  of  laboring  men  and  servant-girls  ; and  the 
bishop  does  not  dare  to  remove  him,  because  these 
aggressive  priests  make  trouble  for  the  church  and 
the  hiithful  are  scandalized. 

Here  is  the  pioneer  of  the  parish-school  system, 
bold  and  reckless.  He  may  advertise  a consecrated 
graveyard  for  sale  at  auction,  seize  an  alderman  by 
the  collar  and  throw  him  out  of  the  church  on  the 
Sabbath,  placard  " Moody  ” and  " Sankey  ” on  the 
backs  of  two  boys  who  chanced  to  go  on  a Sunday 
afternoon  to  Moody  and  Sankey’s  meeting,  give 
them  a thrashing,  then  order  the  school  to  hoot  at 
them,  nickname  them  "Moodj^  and  Sankey”  ; after 
these  indignities,  compel  them  to  say  prayers  be- 
fore fourteen  images,  at  fourteen  stations,  all  for 
listening  to  a Protestant  one  time  on  the  Sabbath ! 
Then  he  may  allow  his  curate  to  throw  his  three- 
cornered  hat  and  his  prayer-book  at  the  heads  of 
the  pupils,  refuse  mass  to  all  who  attend  free 
schools,  charge  admission  fees  to  all  who  do  attend 
high  mass,  invest  in  corner  lots,  own  a whole  block 
of  buildings  in  his  own  name,  while  his  church, 
though  deeded  to  the  bishop,  is  heavily  mortgaged ; 


14 


WHY  I WROTE  THE  BOOK. 


all  this,  and  more,  yet  the  archbishop  dare  not  say 
the  first  opposing  word. 

Why?  The  priest  has  the  ear  of  the  Pope. 
He  uses  the  cable  more  perhaps  — receives  more 
congratulations  from  Kome  — than  the  archbishop 
himself.  He  is  killing  New  England  Puritanism 
by  undermining  her  system  of  free  schools. 
Just  what  Rome  demands.  He  is  the  Boanenres 
of  the  papacy.  Let  the  bishop  rebuke  him,  and 
Rome  howls. 

Then,  again,  witness  the  bishop’s  dealings  with 
Father  Titus,  hero  of  my  last  book.  Knowing  all 
his  amours,  he  was  too  imperious  for  the  bishop  to 
suppress  or  rebuke,  so  he  is  given  the  highest 
honors  and  the  most  lucrative  chars^e.  Father 
.Titus  was  very  zealous  for  the  faith,  and  so  his 
misdemeanors  were  overlooked.  It  is  said  of  him 
that  he  built  more  churches  and  ruined  more  homes 
than  any  other  man  in  the  diocese.  These  and  a 
score  of  others  I might  mention  are  fetters  to  the 
bishop’s  hands  ; they  are  a barrier  to  all  reform. 

Another  impediment  to  the  bishop  is  his  own 
ofiScial  organ,  the  Pilot.  With  an  immense  circu- 
lation, its  columns  are  given  to  sports,  liquor,  and 
lotteries.  It  is  one  of  the  first  liquor  journals  of 
the  country.  Months  ago  one  of  the  foremost 
temperance  advocates  of  the  diocese  asked  for  a 
temperance  column  to  take  the  place  of  the  sport- 


REFORM  UrON  THE  TAPIS. 


15 


ing  matter.  lie  offered  to  edit  it  himself,  without 
remuneration.  He  was  refused  on  the  ground  that 
sports  were  more  acceptable  to  its  readers  than 
tem[)erance.  Not  until  the  Providence  Total 
Abstinence  Union  passed  a resolution  to  subscribe 
only  for  papers  having  a temperance  department 
did  this  religious  ( ?)  journal  insert  a column  de- 
voted to  the  cause.  It  was  the  only  paper  in  Pos- 
ton that  for  years  dared  advertise  the  Louisiana 
Stale  Lottery,  in  spite  of  public  opinion  and  our 
stringent  laws.  Not  until  compelled  to  by  the 
authorities  did  it  desist  from  advertising  lotteries, 
and  then  only  at  my  solicitation  and  demand  that 
the  law  be  enforced. 

But  the  greatest  drawback  of  the  archbishop  is 
the  Imrden  of  two  hundred  mortgages,  more  or  less, 
on  one  hundred  and  fifty  churches.  A few  churches, 
those  of  the  Jesuits  and  Redemptorist  Fathers,  are 
not  in  the  bishop’s  name.  The  rest,  the  sec- 
ular churches,  are.  They  are  generally  mort- 
gaged for  nearly  their  full  value.  Churches  are 
dedicated,  but  not  consecrated  until  out  of  debt. 
One  informant  declares  that  only  three  belonging 
to  the  bishop  have  been  consecrated,  only  three 
are  out  of  debt.  This  I doubt. 

Number  of  churches  in  the  archdiocese,  156  ; 
churches  being  erected,  7 ; chapels  and  stations, 
14:  total,  177.  Colleges,  2;  female  academies, 


16 


WHY  I WKOTE  THE  BOOK. 


4 ; hospitals,  7 ; orphan  asylums,  10  ; convents, 
14;  parochial  schools,  28.  In  the  whole  Com- 
monwealth, nearly  twice  as  many.  Property  in 
the  State  untaxed,  un reported,  in  the  hands  of 
irresponsible  priests,  from  ten  to  twenty  millions. 

I ask  in  all  candor,  how  can  the  archl)ishop 
manage  all  those  mortgages,  watch  all  the  pilfer- 
ing priests,  and  still  perform  his  more  important 
ecclesiastical  duties  ? These  are  ordinations,  dedi- 
cations, church  consecrations,  receiving  members 
in  holy  orders,  such  as  Sisters  of  Charity,  Sisters 
of  Mercy,  Sisters  of  St.  Joseph,  Franciscan  Sis- 
ters, Sisters  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  and  Little 
Sisters  of  the  Poor.  The  last-named  must  be  only 
five  feet  high  ; they  are  called  "Little,”  but  what 
is  lost  in  height  is  often  made  up  in  breadth. 
They  are  generally  the  fattest,  most  persistent 
and  inveterate  beggars  of  the  whole  diocese. 

Besides,  there  are  confirmations,  dispensations 
of  marriage,  blessing  of  holy  oils  and  chrism,  trials 
of  priests  and  laymen,  discipline  of  the  clergy, 
attending  council,  corresponding  with  parishes, 
compiling  statistics,  keeping  full  account  of  the 
finances  of  the  diocese,  organizing  new  societies, 
corresponding  with  the  Pope,  and  sending  to 
Kome  a full  account  of  Catholic  population,  num- 
ber of  priests,  schools,  convents,  churches,  asy- 
lums, and  all  money  coming  under  his  hand. 


INTKODUCTION. 


17 


No  man  living  can  perform  all  this.  Whom, 
then,  does  he  appoint  his  deputy  vicegerents^ 
What  man,  armed  with  the  power  of  justice,  and 
with  the  Archbisho))’s  signet  ever  at  hand,  can  be 
trusted  with  the  management  of  these  millions? 
AVhn  but  a Cape  Cod  sailor,  sailing  three  times 
around  the  world,  boxing  the  compass  of  almost 
every  sect  and  creed  from  Baptist  to  Episcopa- 
lain,  until  at  last  he  jumps  into  the  Catholic  fold, 
finds  a harbor  of  rest,  fashionable  clubs,  fine  wines, 
fast  horses,  and  excellent  female  society? 

No  solvent  corporation  would  trust  its  untaxed 
millions  to  such  hands.  No  wonder  the  town  of 
Natick  cries  to  the  priest,  " Where  is  our  money?  ” 
No  wonder  that  Brighton  says,  ” Why  is  our 
church  not  built?”  No  wonder  that  Lawrence 
cries,  "Where  is  our  half  million?  We  have 
trusted  our  savings  to  the  priests  * and  we  have 
become  beggars  ! ” Church  trustees  must  be  ap- 
pointed and  reform  must  come!  The  decree  has 
gone  forth,  light  is  flashing,  thunders  echo  in  the 
sky,  " Vox  jpojpuli,  vox  Dei!  ” 


CHAPTER  II. 


CHURCH  LOTTERIES. 

OPEN  LETTER  TO  ARCHBISHOP  WILLIAMS  BY  REV.  HENRT 
MORGAN. 

Reverend  Sir,  — I have  purchased  two  tickets 
to  your  lotteries,  — one  for  the  House  of  the  Good 
Shepherd,  the  other  for  the  Altars  of  the  Cathe- 
dral. Lotteries  can  never  be  stopped  while  the 
Church  leads  in  the  crime. 

Three  years  ago  I made  this  public  vow : " The 
first  church  in  Boston,  of  whatever  sect  or  creed, 
that  advertises,  sets  up,  or  promotes  a lottery,- 
shall  be  prosecuted  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law.” 
The  lot  fell  upon  the  Cathedral  Fair.  Your  rector 
evaded  the  law  by  withdrawing  the  tickets.  Gam- 
blers and  liquor-sellers  came  to  the  rescue.  They 
know  their  friends.  One  liquor  seller  from  his 
fair  table  gave  you  a check  for  $7,000. 

The  law  says : " Every  person  who  sells  or 
offers  to  sell  any  ticket,  number,  chance,  or  token 
037-  lottery  or  raffle  is  subject  to  a fine  not  ex- 
ceeding $2,000;  also  to  imprisonment.”  Again: 
" Whoever  aids  either  by  printing,  writing,  ad- 
vertising, or  is  in  any  way  concerned  in  setting  up 
a lottery  or  raffle  is  subject  to  the  same  fine.” 


OPEN  LETTER  TO  ARCHBISHOP  WILLIAMS.  19 


And  again  : " Whoever  lets  or  allows  a building 
to  be  used  for  such  purposes  is  also  liable.” 

Can  it  be  necessary  for  a bishop  to  break  the 
law?  You  hold  the  title  deeds  of  more  untaxed 
property  than  any  other  man  in  New  England. 
Two  hundred  churches  and  institutions,  more  or 
less,  assessed  at  millions,  but  taxed  nothing. 
More  than  four  millions  in  Boston  alone.  I own 
but  one  small  brick  church,  and  am  taxed  nearly 
$500  a year.  I never  complained,  never  asked 
one  cent’s  reduction. 

Your  deeds  and  mine  are  given  to  us  individu- 
ally, and  not  to  trustees.  No  treasurer,  no  au- 
ditor of  accounts,  no  corporation.  We  can  sell  at 
will.  Your  property  is  managed  by  irresponsible 
priests,  — responsible  neither  to  State  nor  congre- 
gation. Priests  can  pack  their  trunks,  carry  the 
money  to  Europe  by  the  thousand,  and  you  bo 
none  the  wiser.  What  became  of  the  $800,000 
raised  for  the  Cathedral  by  your  vicar-general 
while  you  were  in  Europe  ? Cathedral  still  mort- 
gaged clear  up  to  the  roof.  Look  at  Bishop 
Purcell,  of  Cincinnati,  wasting  several  millions  of 
the  people’s  hard-earned  money.  Look  at  Bishop 
Fabre,  of  Montreal,  spending  millions  in  lottery 
schemes.  I protest,  bishops  and  priests  should 
submit  their  accounts  to  the  State  or  con<jreijation, 
or  be  taxed  like  other  men. 


20 


CHURCH  LOTTERIES. 


'VYlio  pays  the  taxes  on  your  four  millions  in 
Boston,  assessed  at  sixty  thousand  dollars  a year 
and  more  ? Answer  : Mostly  Protestants  and  non- 
church-goers. Shall  they  have  no  voice  in  gov- 
ernment ? None  for  the  suppression  of  crime  ? 
None  for  the  reduction  of  exorbitant  taxes?  Shall 
the  rich  men  all  be  driv^en  from  the  city?  Cath- 
olics in  the  United  States  are  but  one  eighth  of  the 
population,  — six  and  a half  millions  ; Protestants, 
ten  millions ; non-church-goers,  thirty  millions. 
Yet  Catholics  hold  nearly  all  the  large  cities. 
They  bar  stringent  legislation  and  shield  the  crim- 
inal classes.  How  long,  O Church  of  God,  shall 
these  things  be  ? 

Shall  the  Holy  Mother  Church  — too  holy  to 
hold  fellowship  with  any  other  sect  or  denomina- 
tion, too  pure  to  join  with  Methodist  or  Baptist 
for  any  reform  — be  allowed  to  break  every  law, 
breed  most  of  the  paupers  and  criminals,  and 
carry  every  city  election  against  law  and  order? 
No  ! no  ! a thousand  times  no  ! In  the  name  of 
modern  cizilization  and  humanity,  no  ! no  ! 

Now,  sir,  if  I shall  prove  that  out  of  650  convicts 
in  Concord  State  Prison  400  are  Catholics,  — 500 
per  cent  more  than  the  Church’s  due  proportion 
according  to  the  population  of  the  State  ; that 
of  the  230  in  the  Woman’s  Prison  at  Sherborn 
seven  tenths  are  Catholics  ; that  75  per  cent  of  the 


OPEN  LETTER  TO  ARCnBISIIOP  WILLIAMS.  21 


inmates  of  Deer  Island  are  Catholics ; that  62  per 
cent  of  the  boys  of  the  Reform  School  are  Cath- 
olics ; that  the  proportion  of  paupers  and  beggars 
is  still  larger ; that  crimes  are  blackest  where 
steeples  are  thickest  (South  Boston,  for  instance)  ; 
that  the  Church  panders  to  the  criminal  classes ; 
votes  almost  solid  for  lotteries,  lawlessness,  and 
free  rum  (witness  the  late  election)  ; that  your 
organ,  the  Pilot,  is  rum’s  advocate,  its  chief  adver- 
tisement the  Golden  Crown  — whether  king’s  crown 
or  pope’s  crown,  at  any  rate  it  crowns  a liquor 
cask, — "Cognac  Brandy,” — if  I shall  prove  that 
this  same  Pilot,  purchased  and  owned  in  part,  at 
least,  by  you,  J.  Boyle  O’Reilly,  editor,  having 
the  largest  circulation  of  any  Catholic  paper  in  the 
world,  was  about  the  only  paper  for  years  in  Boston 
that  dared  adv^ertise  "L.  S.  L.”  — Louisiana  State 
Lotteries  — and  would  advertise  to-day  in  spite  of 
law  and  public  opinion  but  for  my  efforts  two 
months  since  in  ordering  the  police  commissioners 
to  do  their  duty,  — suppress  the  advertisement ; 
that  this  same  Boyle  O’Reilly,  poet  and  politician, 
advocates  pugilism,  prize  fighting,  — the  divine  art 
of  nose-smashing,  — goes  all  the  way  to  New  York 
to  witness  the  mill  between  Tug  Wilson  and  John 
Sullivan,  defends  the  deed  in  your  organ  at  the 
moral  expense  of  bishop  and  Church  ; that  O’Reilly 
and  Sullivan  are  representative  Catholics,  one  from 


22 


CHURCH  LOTTERIES. 


a Boston  institution,  the  other  from  over  the 
water  ; that  Sullivan’s  escape  from  the  fine  of  $300 
for  smashing  a man’s  jaw  is  like  the  escape  of  five 
hundred  other  criminals  let  loose  by  Catholic  in- 
iluence  through  the  district  attorney, — now,  sir, 
if  I prove  all  this  and  more,  will  the  Church 
authorities  then  desist  from  their  suicidal  course  ? 

1 tremble  for  the  future  of  the  Church.  Shall 
the  acts  of  republican  France  be  repeated  in  repub- 
lican America?  Shall  Jesuits  be  outlawed  and 
ordered  to  depart  as  enemies  of  the  State?  The 
Central  American  States  have  banished  them. 
Mexico  has  confiscated  their  property  for  schools 
and  public  improvements.  Italy’s  indignation 
rouses  at  the  first  stir  of  the  late  pope’s  bones. 
The  Church  of  the  Continent  rests  on  a seething 
volcano. 

Let  the  Church  in  America  take  warning. 

If  I go  to  Spain,  what?  Ignorance,  blood,  and 
bull-fights.  To  Italy,  home  of  the  pope  and 
papacy,  what?  Every  tenth  person  a beggar  or 
brigand.  To  France,  eldest  daug^pr  of  the 
Church,  what?  Licensed  bagnios,  and  every 
twelfth  child  illegitimate.  To  Ireland  ? Intem- 
perance, squalor,  degradation.  All  fruit  of  the 
Cburch.  Massachusetts  is  fast  following  suit. 
Woe  to  the  Church  when  the  three-quarter 
population,  the  non-church-goers,  rise  in  their 


OPEN  LETTER  TO  ARCHBISHOP  WILLIAMS.  23 


might  and  say,  "Hold,  enough  of  lotteries,  pau- 
perism, and  crime  ! Close  your  doors  or  reform.” 

What  I shall  do  with  the  lottery  tickets  depends 
upon  the  district  attorney.  Elected  mostly  by 
Catholic  votes,  appointing  Catholic  assistants,  hav- 
ing more  influence  than  judge  or  jury,  setting  free 
more  criminals,  two  to  one,  than  are  convicted, 
his  position  is  apparent.  Future  legislation  may 
abolish  the  office. 

State  rule  is  our  only  hope,  if  the  Church  con- 
tinues in  its  present  reckless,  suicidal,  mad 
career.  Oh,  awake,  sir ! awake  to  the  crisis ! 
You  were  a Boston  boy.  You  are  to-day  the 
most  liberal  Catholic  bishop  in  America.  You 
can  see  and  feel  the  terrible  change  that  has  come 
over  your  native  city.  You  alone  can  avert  I he 
threatened  catastrophe.  Oh,  sir!  you  hold  the 
keys  of  destiny  I The  fate  of  millions  ! Kise  in 
your  might ! Expel  the  wrong ! Say  that  lot- 
teries, Sunday  liquor  selling,  incontinence,  miracle 
frauds,  and  plenary  indulgences  shall  be  forever 
banished  from  the  Holy  Church  of  God. 

Yours,  HENRY  MORGAN. 

Boston,  Nov.  21,  1882. 

To  Most  Rev.  John  J.  Williams,  Archbishop. 

P.  S.  — See  editorial  in  Pilot  of  July  2.9,  1882, 
on  prize  fighting.  After  intimating  that  prize 
fighting  is  a gdod  sign  of  the  times,  the  editor 


24 


CHUKCH  LOTTERIES. 


Bays : And  it  is  possible  to  make  it  a good 

thing,  and  therefore  gratify  a healthy  appetite.” 

Healthy  to  bruise  men’s  heads ! Oh,  shame  I 
shame!  Where  is  thy  blush? 

" The  art  of  boxins^  in  America  ought  to  be 
raised  to  its  old  classic  excellence.”  (As  in  the 
dark  ages,  I suppose.)  "The  way  to  do  it  is  to 
make  the  ' knocking-out  ’ business  a heavy  crime, 
and  offer  the  prizes  to  those  who  compete  for 
points  of  skill.” 

Is  not  the  whole  thing  a heavy,  yea,  an  abom- 
inable crime,  classed  with  felony? 

Again  : " The  proper  object  of  boxing  is  the  cul- 
tivation of  a manly  and  healthful  exercise.  For 
high  skill  prizes  ought  to  be  offered,  and  here 
public  interest  is  well  directed.” 

‘ Yes,  pugilistic  prizes  offered  ! Good  I Selah  I 
Offered  by  the  latter-day  followers  of  the  Meek 
and  Lowly  I Who,  being  reviled,  reviled  not 
again ; persecuted,  he  threatened  not. 

Again  : "Sedentary  reformers  may  satisfy  them- 
selves that  because  prize  lighting  is  brutal  it  is 
dying  out.  The  facts  are  against  them.” 

Of  course  not,  when  the  Church  leads  off.  Ho  ! 
ye  patron  saints  of  the  prize  ring  I Now,  sir,  I 
ask  in  all  sincerity,  how  long  will  modern  civiliza- 
tion stand  such  Christianity  as  this?  How  long? 
0 Lord  God  Almighty  ! How  long  I How  long ! 

H.  M. 


CHAPTER  III. 


CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  THE  TEMPERANCE  CAUSE.  — 
BURNING  OF  THE  URSULINE  CONVENT  AND  ITS  LESSONS. 

[Delivered  on  Mount  BertMict,  Somerville,  Sunday,  Aug.  37,  1882, 
by  Rev.  Henry  Morgan.] 

Text  : “ Our  holy  and  beautiful  house  is  burned  up 
with  fire.’’’’  — Is.  Ixiv.  11. 

We  stand  on  historic  ground.  These  ruins 
mark  a battle-tield, — battle-field  of  two  opposing 
forces : one  mob  force,  the  other  a religious 
force ; apparently  the  mob  won.  Yonder  tall 
shaft  on  Bunker  Hill  also  commemorates  a battle- 
field. But  over  there,  victory  perched  on  our 
banners ; a victory  of  which  Americans  may  well 
be  proud.  Here  also  victory  was  won  ; but  it  was 
a victory  that  brings  the  blush  of  shame  ! 

On  this  pleasant  August  evening,  you  see  few 
indications  of  the  fierce  passions  that  raged  here 
on  that  memorable  August  night,  forty-eight  years 
ago.  These  crumbling  ruins  indeed  remain  ; but 
the  lurid  glare,  reddening  the  summer  sky ; the 
cries  of  frightened  women  and  almost  frenzied 
children ; the  tierce  rush  of  the  flames,  and  the 


26  CATHOLIC  CIIUUCII  AND  TEMPERANCE. 


shouts  and  yells  of  the  maddened  mob,  — these 
are  all  wanting  to  bring  to  your  eyes  the  hideous 
picture  of  that  night  of  terror.  Thank  heaven, 
these  broken  walls  are  the  only  memorial  of  the 
violence  of  religious  prejudice  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  land. 

Forty-eight  years  ago,  the  finest  Ursuline  con- 
vent in  New  England  crowned  this  spot ; built 
by  a convert  to  the  Catholic  faith,  John  Thayer  of 
Salem,  and  intended  as  a fashionable  boarding 
school  for  children  of  wealthy  families,  — Protes- 
tants preferred.  Here  it  was  proposed  to  give 
Protestant  girls  a first-class  Catholic  education 
in  what  are  called  "accomplishments,”  — em- 
broidery, painting,  drawing,  music,  and  dancing. 
These  are  what  stanch  Puritans  opposed ; but 
liberal  Unitarians  patronized  them  out  of  spite  to 
Puritans,  — fraternized  with  the  Catholics.  The 
convent  had  fifty  Protestant  pupils  (mostly  Uni- 
tarians) to  ten  Catholics. 

The  convent  was  a grand  building  for  the  times  : 
surrounded  with  beautiful  grounds,  terraces,  trees, 
and  shrubbery ; aristocratic  porter’s  lodge  and 
bishop’s  house.  It  looked  to  the  natives  as  for- 
eisrii  as  the  castle  of  the  most  distant  forei^'n 
potentate.  Common  people  had  to  go  to  the  side 
or  back  door.  The  errand  entrance  was  reserved 
for  Bishop  Fenwick  and  the  Lady  Superior. 


FALL  OF  THE  URSULINE  CONVENT. 


27 


These  dignitaries  ruled  with  the  sway  of  a king 
and  queen  ; exacted  deference  and  homage.  The 
whole  household  stood  in  awe  of  the  Lady  Superior, 
not  excepting  the  bishop.  She  was  large  and 
corpulent.  Nuns  bowed  before  her;  servants 
approached  her  with  bent  head,  downcast  eyes, 
hands  crossed  on  breast.  She  always  drove  out 
in  state, — stylish  carriage,  fat  horses,  and  fat 
coachman ; the  pink  of  royalty. 

What  caused  the  Riot.  — The  convent  was 
looked  upon  with  jealous  eyes  by  the  natives.  It 
was  foreign,  un  American  ; an  oifshoot  of  mo- 
narchial  rule.  None  more  bitter  against  it  than  the 
Boston  truckmen  : they  were  a powerful  guild  m 
those  days  ; called  themselves  "the  watch-dogs  of 
Boston  " ; took  a prominent  part  in  city  politics. 
The  city  government  was  then  conducted  on  the 
American  plan ; " Put  none  but  Americans  on 
guard”  was  the  motto.  The  truckmen  were  ex- 
ponents of  this  policy ; they  were  not  fond  of 
royalty  or  foreign  customs. 

In  fact,  they  were  the  Dennis  Kearneys  of  their 
time.  " The  Chinese  must  go.”  A riot  had 
occurred  on  Broad  Street,  blood  had  been  shed  ; 
Irishmen  were  the  victims,  they  had  cheajiened 
labor;  no  chance  for  Americans  but  to  follow 
Horace  Greeley’s  advice,  " Go  West,  young  man.” 
Hence  the  riot.  The  truckmen  did  n’t  say,  how- 


28  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  TEMPERANCE. 


ever,  "The  Irish  mast  go”;  but  this,  "The  Irish 
must  n’t  uiider])id  ! must  not  introduce  popery  ! ” 
Now,  that  was  just  what  the  Irish  were  bound 
to  do.  "Faith,  an’  that’s  jist  what  we’re  here 
fur.” 

The  public  mind  had  recently  been  agitated  on 
the  subject  of  Catholicism.  Dr.  Lyman  Beecher 
had  lately  poured  out  the  vials  of  his  wrath  against 
Bomanism,  denouncing  convents.  All  Boston  was 
stirred  ; stranare  rumors  affectiu2r  the  Ursuline  Con- 
vent  began  to  fly  about ; old  stories  were  raked 
up,  new  ones  bruited  abroad.  A pupil  had  just 
escaped;  she  was  a young  girl,  native  of  Charles- 
town. She  told  a thrilling  tale  of  persecution, 
afterwards  published  under  the  title  of  " Six 
Months  in  a Convent.”  She  graphically  portrayed 
the  priest’s  visits  to  her  father’s  death-bed,  his 
anxiety  to  get  possession  of  her  father’s  property, 
the  inducements  offered  her  for  joining  the  nuns, 
her  cruel  treatment,  meagre  fare,  penance  and 
fastings,  tyrannical  restraint  within  four  walls,  her 
anxiety  to  escape,  her  overhearing  of  the  plot  to 
send  her  to  another  convent  and  shut  her  up  for- 
ever. At  last  she  made  her  escape  oub  of  the 
window,  over  lattice-work  and  high  fences. 

Many  ridicule  to  this  day  the  idea  that  she  should 
make  so  romantic  an  elopement  when  she  could 
have  passed  out  of  the  open  door.  That  is  a 


FALL  OF  THE  URSULINE  CONVENT. 


29 


question.  I relate  two  instances  of  similar  re- 
straint. 

A few  years  since,  Mary  McXeil  lived  at  174 
Dover  Street,  Boston.  She  was  eighteen  years 
of  age,  a Protestant,  attended  Protestant  meet- 
ings continually,  and  seemed  quite  devoted.  Her 
brother  was  a Catholic,  and  bigoted.  One  da}^  he 
drove  up  and  asked  her  if  she  would  not  like  to 
see  her  other  brother,  who  was  sick.  She  went 
with  him,  but  did  not  return.  He  drove  immedi- 
ately to  the  House  of  the  Good  Shepherd  in  Brook- 
line, and  had  her  incarcerated.  Mrs.  David  Owen 
and  daughter  called,  but  could  see  her  but  once, 
and  that  in  the  presence  of  the  sisters  behind  bars. 
She  said  she  would  soon  be  out,  thanked  them  for 
the  interest  taken-  in  her  welfare,  and  would  call 
and  see  them.  As  she  did  not  come,  they  called 
one  week  after,  could  not  see  her;  was  told  that 
she  was  dead,  — had  died  of  scrofulous  consump- 
tion. As  she  appeared  perfectly  well  the  week 
before,  they  were  thunderstruck.  If  she  had  got 
out  she  would  certainly  have  showed  herself  to 
her  Protestant  friends.  Whether  dead  or  livino: 
is  still  a mystery. 

Father  Titus,  hero  of  my  book  ” Boston  Inside 
Out,”  was  chaplain  of  that  institution,  — a ” Befuge 
for  the  Fallen.”  It  has  the  reputation  of  being  a 
refuge  for  priestly  victims  coming  from  all  parts 


30  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  TEMRERANCE. 

of  the  country  ; whether  true  or  false  I cannot 
say.  But  more  anon  in  another  lecture. 

Here  is  an  instance  from  the  convent  itself  one 
week  before  it  was  burned  : Caroline  Frances  Alden 
was  an  inmate  of  the  nunnery,  under  the  name  of 
"Sister  Agnes.’’  She  had  taken  the  white  veil, 
but  refused  to  go  further  and  be  initiated  under 
the  black  veil.  Her  brother,  J.  W.  Alden,  also 
had  left  the  Catholic  school  in  Vermont,  and  re- 
fused to  become  a priest.  He  was  schooled  with 
Father  Fittoii ; finally  became  author  of  the  "Prin- 
cipia  Papers  ” and  " Vaticanism  Unmasked.” 

]\Ir.  Alden  and  a sister  from  New  Hampshire 
called  at  the  convent  to  see  Caroline,  They  were 
refused ; told  that  Sister  Agnes  could  not  be 
seen.  They  thought  it  strange  ; something  must 
bo  wronsr ! Were  refused  the  second  time.  The 

O 

third  time  Mr.  Alden  said,  " This  sister  of  mine, 
on  her  way  from  New  Hampshire  to  Belfast,  Me., 
has  stopped  in  Boston  to  see  Caroline,  and  she 
shall  see  her!'"  He  rang  for  the  Lady  Superior. 
She  would  not  appear,  but  sent  an  attendant.  He 
rang  again  in  unmistakable  tones.  The  Lady 
Superior  with  haughty  tread  at  last  deigned  to 
show  herself. 

Mr.  Alden  said  : "I  will  see  my  sister  Caroline, 
or  I declare  this  convent  shall  be  torn  down  over 
your  heads ! ” 


FALL  OF  THE  URSULIXE  CONVENT. 


31 


He  was  then  allowed  to  see  Caroline  through  a 
grating.  She  looked  as  if  she  had  wept  her  eyes 
out ; gave  him  no  explanation,  but  said,  ” If 
you  are  a friend  to  me,  you  will  leave  this  build- 
ing immediately.  If  you  are  going  to  Belfast,  I 
shall  be  there  in  three  days,’^  The  Lady  Superior, 
seeing  the  determination  of  that  family,  was  com- 
pelled to  let  her  go.  Caroline  met  her  brother 
and  sister  at  Belfast ; never  returned  to  convent 
or  Catholic  Church  aiJ^ain.  But  the  vow  she  was 
compelled  to  take  on  leaving  the  nunnery  she  has 
never  revealed  to  this  day  I 

So  much  for  the  free  egress  of  the  nuns.  When 
not  in  accord  with  the  Lady  Superior,  escape 
seems  almost  impossible.  No  tale-bearers  given 
ticket  of  leave  ! Thus  thought  the  Boston  truck- 
men, and  thus  the  community  generally ; all 
sympathized  with  the  author  ot  " Six  Months  in  a 
Convent,”  and  believed  her  story. 

To  add  fuel  to  flame,  about  this  time  Sister 
Mary  John,  Mother  Assistant,  and  principal  teacher 
of  music,  made  her  escape  in  a strange  manner. 
Overtaxed  with  work  and  delirious  with  fever, 
she  leaped  from  her  sick-bed,  eluding  the  vigilance 
of  her  watchers,  and  in  her  night-dress  flew  out  of 
the  enclosure  down  the  hill  to  a farm-house  owned 
by  a Mr.  Cutter.  It  was  at  high  noon,  when  Mr. 
Cutter  was  at  dinner ; she  screamed  and  cried, 


32  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  TEMPERANCE. 


"Murder!  murder!  They  are  trying  to  kill  me 
on  the  hill ! Save  me  ! save  me  ! ” 

Mr.  Cutter,  though  not  friendly  to  the  institu- 
tions, gave  her  in  charge  of  his  wife,  hastened  to 
the  convent  and  reported  to  the  Lady  Superior. 
She  hurried  in  her  carriage  to  the  farm-house ; 
then,  with  the  bishop  and  a Catholic  brother  of 
Mary  John,  they  seized  her  Mdiile  screaming  and 
raving  and  protesting,  forced  her  into  the  car- 
riage, and  drove  with  lightning  speed  back  to  the 
convent. 

News  of  the  escape  and  capture  flew  like  wild- 
fire. Boston  was  ablaze  with  excitement.  It  was 
said  that  Mary  John  had  been  fiendishly  treated, 
— was  walled  up  alive  in  an  underground  cell. 
Groans  and  cries  had  been  heard  from  the  cellars. 
Secret  indignation  meetings  were  held  by  Boston 
truckmen.  Threatening  placards  appeared  in  the 
streets.  "Burn  down  the  convent !”  was  the  cry. 
"Remember  the  Broad  Street  riot,  where  American 
blood  was  spilled  by  Catholics  ! ” Fears  of  mob 
violence  reached  the  Superior’s  ears.  She  laughed 
them  to  scorn.  " Irishmen  will  protect  us,”  she 
said.  The  portress  came  flying  in. 

"Oh,  madam,  a selectman  from  Charlestown 
wants  to  see  you.  He  says  the  convent  is  in 
danger : the  mob  are  going  to  make  an  attack  this 
very  night.  He  wants  to  search  the  cellars,  so  as 


FALL  OF  THE  URSULINE  CONVENT. 


33 


to  tell  them  there  are  no  nuns  imprisoned.  Oh, 
pray,  dear  madam,  in  the  holy  Virgin's  name,  go 
and  SCO  this  man.”  And  she  fell  on  her  knees  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"Stop  whimpering,  you  fool,”  cried  the  Superior. 
" I won’t  let  anybody  search  this  convent.  Bishop 
Fenwick  is  my  adviser.  I won’t  take  advice  from 
selectmen.  Pooh  ! they  are  weak  as  old  women, 
— vulgarians,  plebeians,  shopkeepers.” 

In  came  Sister  Mary  John,  with  dishevelled 
hair,  flurried  and  excited.  She  cried,  " Let  me 
go,  madam ! I am  the  cause  of  this  trouble. 
Let  me  show  him  the  cellars  ! ” Seizing  a lan- 
tern, she  Hew  to  the  selectman  ; but  the  Superior 
hastened  after.  She  overtook  Mary  John  at  the 
cellar  door,  snatched  the  lantern,  and  thrust  it 
into  the  selectman’s  hand.  "I  won’t  allow  one  of 
the  sisters  to  show  you  these  premises.  Play  the 
spy  yourself,  if  you  want  to.  Take  this  lantern 
and  look  to  your  heart’s  content ! ” 

The  selectman  was  grieved  and  left  in  a hurry. 
Many  of  the  nuns  and  pupils  condemned  the  Supe- 
rior’s arrogance.  They  said  that  as  the  selectman 
had  come  to  protect  the  institution,  she  ought  to 
h ive  treated  him  politely  and  explained  matters. 
All  but  the  Superior  were  alarmed ; expected 
every  minute  to  hear  the  shouts  of  the  mob. 
Some  of  the  girls  crying  for  fear  the  mob  would 


34  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  TEMPERANCE. 


come  ; others  for  fear  it  would  n’t.  These  wanted 
to  escape,  but  dared  not ; afraid  their  Protestant 
parents  would  l)ring  them  back.  An  inmate  of 
the  convent,  Miss  Louisa  Goddard,  of  Dorchester, 
now  the  wife  of  Prof.  Whitney,  of  Harvard  Col- 
lege, describes  what  she  witnessed  that  night. 

It  was  moonlight ; most  of  the  nuns  and  pupils 
were  asleep  ; no  sound  to  be  heard  but  the  crack- 
ling of  the  brick-yard  fires  near  by,  and  distant 
barking  of  dogs.  Suddenly  there  was  an  awful 
yell  and  shout.  It  was  the  roar  of  the  mob  cross- 
ing Charlestown  Bridge.  Soon  another  yell,  and 
tramp  of  feet  close  by.  A host  of  dark  figures 
poured  into  view,  shouting  and  yelling.  Pande- 
monium seemed  Jo  l)e  let  loose. 

"Oh,  the  mob  ! the  mob  ! ” cried  the  frightened 
women  and  children.  "Oh,  we  shall  all  be  killed  ! ” 
And  they  rushed  about  in  despair. 

"Where’s  the  Lady  Superior?”  cried  the  mob. 
" 'VYe  want  the  Superior  ! Tell  her  to  come  out, 
or  we  ’ll  pull  the  convent  down  about  her  ears  ! ” 

At  last  the  courageous  Superior  appeared  at  the 
top  of  the  high  steps. 

" What  do  you  Avant  ? ” she  demanded.  " Dis- 
perse at  once  ! If  you  don’t.  Bishop  Fenwick  has 
twenty  thousand  Irishmen  at  his  commanU  in 
Boston,  and  they  will  whip  you  all  into  the 
seal” 


FALL  OF  THE  URSULINE  CONVENT. 


35 


Think  of  that ! Boston  truckmen  and  mechanics 
” wiped  out”  by  twenty  thousand  Irish  ! 

This  injudicious  speech  sealed  the  convent’s 
doom.  It  was  received  with  a perfect  tumult. 
Shouts  of  derision,  groans,  and  threatening  yells 
burst  from  the  mob. 

Bring  on  your  twenty  thousand  men  ! ” " Bos- 

ton truckmen  are  good  for  all  the  Irishmen  in 
Massachusetts  ! ” ''  Blow  up  the  nunnery  ! ” ” Down 
with  the  Catholics  ! ” " Shoot  the  old  witch  ! ” 

” Give  her  a coat  of  tar  and  feathers  ! ” 

Such  were  the  various  cries.  Then  suddenly 
came  two  pistol  shots. 

"Oh,  they’ve  murdered  the  Mother  Superior!” 
cried  the  horrified  women  in  the  convent,  dragging 
her  inside  the  door. 

But  she  was  not  hurt.  Those  men  had  no  in- 
tention of  injuring  her.  Her  threats  had  mad- 
dened them,  but  the  shots  were  only  fired  to 
scare  her. 

Cries  now  arose  to  tear  down  the  fences. 

"Make  a big  bonfire,  boys  !”  shouted  the  leader  ; 
" we  want  more  light  to  work  by  I That ’s  the 
talk ! Now  bring  on  the  tar  barrels  ! ” 

Soon  numerous  bonfires  were  blazinof.  The 
mob  increased,  grew  more  hilarious,  yelling,  sing- 
ing, and  dancing  round  the  fires  ; looked  like  wild 
Indians  on  the  war-path.  Then  came  a rattling 
sound, — the  fire-engines.  But  the  firemen  were 


36  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  and  temperance. 

soon  fraternizing  with  the  rioters ; they  came 
to  an  understanding.  There  was  to  be  no  water 
used  that  night ! It  was  one  o’clock  in  the  morn- 
ing before  the  final  plans  were  arranged.  Sud- 
denly a signal  was  given.  With  firemen’s  torches 
and  blazing  brands  the  crowd  rushed  upon  the 
convent.  Oh,  what  horrid  shouts  and  fearful 
cries  rang  on  the  night  air ! What  a volcanic 
roar  as  they  struck  at  the  heavy  doors  ! Crash  ! 
crash ! went  great  stones  through  the  windows. 
Then  a louder  crash  as  the  doors  fell  down,  bat- 
tered to  pieces. 

"Look  outfor  the  women  ! ” snouted  the  leaders. 
" Don’t  hurt  a hair  of  their  heads  ! Down  with  the 
convent ! Raze  it  to  the  ground  I But  spare  the 
women  and  children  ! ” 

Then  another  cry  arose  : — 

"To  the  cellars!  To  the  dungeons!  Search 
the  underground  cells  ! Rescue  the  imprisoned 
nuns  ! 

The  mob  poured  in  like  a torrent,  overflowing 
the  convent  from  cellar  to  garret ; not  a soul  was 
found  within.  The  Superior,  nuns,  and  children 
had  made  their  escape  by  a back  door ; were 
huddled  behind  the  convent  tomb  in  the  garden. 
Every  sound  struck  terror  to  their  souls ; those 
wild  shouts  seemed  to  portend  their  doom.  Lights 
flashed  throuo’hout  the  convent.  Crash  ! crash ! 

O 

went  handsome  furniture  and  crosses  through  the 


FALL  OF  THE  URSULINE  CONVENT. 


37 


windows.  Louder  swelled  the  roar  of  the  mob ; 
louder  the  jeers  and  hurrahs  as  the  grand  piano 
was  tlung,  bang ! to  the  ground,  smashing  into 
fragments. 

” Hurrah ! hurrah ! ” shouted  the  rioters. 
''  Down  with  Romanism ! Set  tire  to  the  con- 
vent ! Burn  the  Catholic  nest ! ” 

Then  they  rushed  from  room  to  room  ; bedding, 
curtains,  pictures  were  heaped  up  in  piles  and 
set  on  fire.  Soon  the  convent  was  in  full  blaze. 
The  mob  retreated  to  a safe  distance,  to  watch  the 
final  end  of  their  work. 

What  had  become  of  the  nuns  and  children? 
While  the  roaring  flames  enveloped  the  convent, 
they  had  been  rescued  by  some  of  the  selectmen. 
Coming  up  in  the  rear,  unseen  by  the  rioters,  they 
broke  off  boards  from  the  high  fence  and  silently 
led  the  terrified  women  and  children  to  a place  of 
safety.  All  that  night  the  blazing  convent  lit  up 
the  country  for  miles  around.  The  crowd  melted 
away  with  the  first  streaks  of  dawn.  When  the 
sun  arose,  nothing  Avas  left  but  these  blackened 
walls,  standing  gloomy  and  grini  amidst  the  scene 
of  desolation. 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  convent’s  fall.  But 
the  victory  Avas  Avith  the  Catholics.  All  America 
sympathized  Avith  them.  From  that  hour  the  riot- 
ous truckmen  Avho  had  instigated  the  mob  began  to 
be  discarded.  Now  they  no  more  ride  in  proces- 


38  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  I ExlIPERANCE. 


sions  through  the  streets  with  white  smock-frocks, 
ruling  politics.  They  were  left  out  in  the  cold, 
just  as  St.  Patrick’s  parades  will  be  wlien  the 
voice  of  the  great  army  of  non-church-goers  begins 
to  be  heard.  Three  fourths  of  the  population 
are  non-church-goers.  Their  voice  is  soon  to  be 
omnipotent.  Not  all  the  foreign  population  are 
Irish,  and  not  half  the  Irish  and  their  descendants 
attend  the  Catholic  Church.  They  do  not  believe 
in  foreign  rule  for  Americans,  — rule  of  the 
Pope. 

What  was  the  lesson  of  the  riot?  Did  the 
Church  rise  to  its  great  opportunity,  — stand  up 
for  temperance,  chastity,  and  morality ; or  was 
the  world  of  sympathy  wasted  ? When  Boston's 
solid  men  became  stirred  in  her  behalf ; when  the 
Lees,  the  Lorings,  the  Winthrops,  the  Appletons, 
and  Horace  Mann  signed  letters  of  condolence, 
calling  a meeting  of  indignation  in  Faneuil  Hall, 
then  was  the  Church’s  hour.  Did  she  embrace  it 
for  the  glory  of  God,  for  morality  and  temperance  ? 
On'the  contrary,  has  not  the  Church  been  the  great 
bulwark  of  the  rum  interest,  the  lottery  interest? 
Kum-sellers  the  chief  pillars  of  the  church ! 
Lottery  fairs,  patronized  by  Protestants,  the  chief 
revenue ! I shall  speak  in  future  lectures  of 
priestly  imchastity,  intemperance,  and  profligacy, 
and  of  the  Church’s  undue  proportion  of  paupers 
and  criminals,  liquor-sellers  and  gamblers. 


CHAPTER  lY. 


CATHOLIC  CHURCH  IN  POLITICS.  FOR  SALE  OR  TO  LET. 

WHO  RUNS  THE  CITY  OF  BOSTON? WHO  PAYS  THE 

BILLS  ? 

[Delivered  in  Horticultural  Hall,  Oct.  1,  1882.] 

The  Roman  Catholic  Church  is  the  strongest 
organization  on  earth,  the  greatest  political  ma- 
chine ; controls  the  minds  of  a hundred  and  fifty 
millions.  Reform  it  and  you  reform  the  ivorld.  It 
IS  the  great  ally  of  the  Democratic  party,  head  and 
front,  bone  and  sinew  of  the  Democracy.  Strike 
a Catholic  and  you  hit  a Democrat  every  time. 
Start  reform,  and  your  greatest  barrier  is  the 
Romish  priesthood.  Yet  in  spite  of  its  huilts, 
the  Church  contains  some  of  the  purest,  noblest 
men  that  walk  the  earth. 

Now,  Catholics  and  Democrats  are  my  friends. 
They  have  thanked  me  for  what  I have  done  in 
the  past.  True  Catholics,  candid  Democrats,  will 
thank  me  for  what  I say  to-night.  They  see  the 
danger  and  welcome  the  ivarning. 

The  boys  of  my  night  school, — boot-blacks, 
newsboys,  telegraph  messengers, — now  grown 
up,  were  mostly  Catholics,  and  still  hail  me  as 


40 


CATHOLIC  CHURCH  IN  POLITICS. 


their  friend.  A Catholic  helped  me  to  repair  my 
church  more  than  all  others  — gave  $1,000  to  the 
work.  Liberal  Catholics  said  to  me,  “Your 
expositions  are  all  true,  Mr.  Morgan.  They  are 
needed.  Catholics  are  at  the  bottom  of  much  of 
Boston’s  wickedness  and  immorality.  It  grieves  us 
to  say  it.  The  priesthood  is  rotten.  We  want 
reform  in  the  church,  in  the  priesthood.  Then  we 
shall  not  be  ashamed  that  we  are  Catholics.” 

As  to  the  Democrats,  the  only  office  I ever 
held  was  by  Democratic  votes,  — chaplain  of  Mas- 
sachusetts State  Senate.  Ex-Governor  Gaston,  . 
only  Democratic  governor  for  years,  led  my  forces  ; . 
led  them  to  victory. 

Yet  the  truth  must  be  told.  Democracy  in 
large  cities  has  fallen  into  strange  hands, — Catholic 
hands.  Having  but  an  eighth  of  the  population, 
Catholics  rule  the  other  seven  eighths. 

In  faith.  Catholics  are  a unit ; in  politics,  a 
unit.  They  vote  as  a unit;  vote  "solid”  for 
The  Democratic  ticket.  No  questions  asked.  No 
matter  if  a Beacon  Hill  " blue-blood  ” heads  the 
ticket  and  a North  End  rumseller  foots  it.  Like 
sheep  over  a fence,  they  follow  the  political  bell- 
wether. The  bell-wether  is  generally  a Catholic 
liquor-seller,  such  as  Jim  Flynn  and  Mike  Doherty. 
Votes  tell!  Voters  are  sovereigns.  No  matter 
how  cheap  the  material.  A hoodlum’s  vote  counts 


FOR  SALE  OR  TO  LET. 


41 


as  much  as  the  best  citizen’s  ballot ; sometimes 
counts  more,  when  he  votes  ” early  and  often,”  — 
votes  on  dead  men’s  names. 

Such  is  Democracy,  such  Catholic  power  in 
politics.  Do  you  want  office?  Give  a few  thou- 
sands to  the  Catholic  Church  and  the  place  is 
secured.  The  Church  is  in  the  market : ” For  sale 
or  to  let,''  Democrats  play  bob  to  the  Vatican 
kite.  Puritan  Boston  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  laz- 
zaroni ; a foreign  army  encamped  in  her  midst  and 
demanding  tribute.  Aristocracy  bows  to  the  Ro- 
man yoke.  Beacon  Hill  kisses  the  pope’s  toe  ! 

Who  runs  the  city  of  Boston?  Who  holds  the 
political  purse-strings?  The  Catholic  Church. 
Who  manage  the  appropriations  ? Who  linger  the 
$12,000,000  of  city  taxes?  Answer:  Tools  of 
the  Catholic  Church.  Its  agents  are  in  City  Hall. 
Men  shouting  for  liberty,  but  truckling  to  monop- 
olists and  capitalists  on  the  sly.  Tools  of  rich 
corporations,  hoodlums,  men  who  can’t  pay  $2  tax 
on  their  own  heads ; ask  Ben  Butler  to  do  it. 
Don’t  own  the  coats  on  their  backs.  Small  tools 
can  be  bought  cheap,  handled  easy.  If  the 
Albany  Railroad  wants  $100,000  in  privileges  or 
encroachments  on  the  city,  it  buys  the  tools.  If 
C.  A.  Richards  wants  a favor  for  his  horse  rail- 
road, he  has  his  voters.  The  public  pays  the  bills. 
Who  paid  for  the  thousand  tickets  he  gave  to  the 


42 


CATHOLIC  CHURCH  IN  POLITICS. 


Golden  Jubilee  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity  ? Perhaps 
it  was  charged  to  ” profit  and  loss.”  Profitable 
to  get  the  Catholic  vote.  Kichards  gets  $10,000 
salary,  besides  the  large  income  of  several  rum- 
shops  ; and  the  railroad  makes  big  dividends, 
besides  investing  in  vacant  lots  for  the  city  to  buy. 
All  out  of  the  public. 

If  telephone  and  telegraph  companies  demand 
street  privileges  for  their  poles,  and  free  use  of 
everybody’s  roof  without  let  or  hindrance,  they 
”feel”  their  friends  before  election.  Telephone 
stock  originally  bought  up  for  $10  a share.  When 
it  was  found  they  could  have  full  control  of  streets 
and  houses,  stock  went  up  from  $10  to  $110.  A 
thousand  per  cent  in  one  year  ! flow  is  it  done  ? 
Through  the  committee  on  streets.  Alderman 
Slade,  chairman ; Superintendent  Harris,  clerk. 
Harris  winks  to  Slade  ; Slade  winks  to  the  rest  of 
the  committee,  and  the  thing  is  done.  Why? 
Harris  is  boss  of  the  streets.  He  has  under  him  a 
thousand  men  paid  by  the  city ; pensioners,  sum- 
mer and  winter,  walking  ballots,  that  vote  as  they 
are  told.  Watch  these  men  at  work.  What  do 
they  do  ? Some  of  them  make  motions  with  the 
pick  and  shovel.  Breaking  cobble-stones,  they 
would  n“t  smash  enough  to  fill  a mud-puddle. 
Won’t  shovel  enough  in  a day  to  fill  a man’s  grave.* 

Harris  has  been  ousted,  Merritt  put  in  his  place  and  ousted,  Jim  Plynn 
succeeding.  Takes  vacation,  at  $4000  a year. 


FOR  SALE  OR  TO  LET. 


43 


The  whole  system  is  permeated  with  jobs  and 
jobbery. 

Who  is  the  head  of  the  Water  Board?  How 
many  men  at  his  nod  and  beck? 

No  wonder  Boston  water  is  called  " Marah  ! ” 
Bitter  water  drives  men  to  bitter  l)eer  and  bad 
whiskey.  Water  Board  plays  into  hands  of  rum- 
sellers. 

One  of  these  city  laborers,  last  year,  having  a 
gin-mill  run  by  his  wife,  with  his  checks  for  free 
drinks  and  ” stickers”  for  ballots  changed  the 
fate  of  three  aldermen.  Two  of  these  candidates 
had  a $5,000  stake  in  the  result. 

Last  w'i liter  the  Metropolitan  Bailroad  snow- 
shovellers  ^'struck”  because  not  paid  as  much  as 
city  laborers.  The  Albany  Kailroad  pays  laborers 
$1.35  a da}\  No  more  for  working  Sundays  than 
a week  day.  Other  railroads  pay  $1.40.  Boston 
pays  $1.85,  while  ten  thousand  men  are  waiting 
for  a job,  and  willing  to  work  cheaper,  but  they 
have  not  the  right  votes.  City  men  under  the 
Prince  regime  wanted  $2  a day  and  vacation  I 
And  all  hands,  at  twenty  minutes  to  twelve,  drop 
shovel  and  pick  and  start  for  dinner. 

Corporations,  I repeat,  wanting  favors,  go  to 
political  brokers  at  City  Hall,  — Catholic  liquor- 
sellers,  pillars  of  the  church.  They  say,  " Help 
us,  will  you?” — "Help  you?  Well,  how  much 


44 


CATHOLIC  CHURCH  IN  POLITICS. 


will  you  give  ? How  much  for  the  Catholic 
vote  ? We' can  give  the  goods  to  you  solid  ! No 
shrinkage  after  election.  ” 

Mayor  Prince  was  elected,  it  is  said,  hy  votes 
on  dead  men’s  names.  At  his  last  election  he  was 
counted  in,  not  elected,  so  say  his  opponents. 
There  are  sixty-five  ex-convicts  running  liquor- 
shops  and  brothels  in  Boston.  They  can’t  vote  on 
their  own  names,  they  are  disfranchised,  but  they 
do  YoiQ  nevertheless.  " Eepeating  ” is  as  much  a 
science  in  Boston  as  in  New  York.  More,  because 
it  is  more  skilfully  done  in  Boston. 

This  is  how  elections  are  carried  in  Boston.  No 
wonder  Boston’s  solid  men  — her  active,  intelli- 
gent citizens,  her  merchant  princes  — depart  in 
disgust ; no  wonder  heavy  tax-payers  refuse  to 
be  plundered,  voted  out  of  their  money  by  hood- 
lums, impoverished  by  ignorant  votes. 

An  instance : William  F.  Weld,  one  of  Bos- 
ton s wealthiest  men,  gave  a tablet  to  my  church 
and  money  to  set  the  stone,  provided  the  society 
would  call  it  ” Morgan  Chapel.”  Would  not  live 
in  Boston  and  pay  taxes  extorted  by  criminal 
and  hireling  voters.  Went  to  Philadelphia  and 
died  there,  Avorth  $21,000,000.  Nathaniel  Thayer, 
a millionnaire,  also  one  of  Boston’s  largest  tax- 
payers, said  he  Avould  pay  one  half  the  taxes 
of  Lancaster,  building  town-house,  roads,  and 


FOR  SALE  OR  TO  LET. 


45 


bridges,  before  he  would  pay  taxes  in  Boston  at 
the  beck  of  the  mob  vote. 

Other  men  have  been  driven  from  Boston  by 
exorl)itant  taxes,  — the  Borlands,  the  Bateses,  the 
Nicholses,  the  Nickersons,  the  Lodges,  the  Lelands, 
and  scores  of  others,  — men  who  have  made  mil- 
lions by  honest  industry,  successful  commerce, 
increasing  Boston’s  wealth  and  commercial  impor- 
tance, foremost  in  her  charities  and  philanthrop- 
ical  enterprises ; yet  these  men  are  at  the  mercy 
of  5,000  hoodlums,  ex-convicts,  pugilists,  political 
pimps,  and  panders,  the  scum  and  otfscourings  of 
foreign  lands.  In  the  next  lecture  I shall  show 
how  caucuses  and  elections  arc  run  by  these  men. 

Brookline  is  m the  very  heart  of  Boston,  ad- 
joining the  Back  Bay  Park,  — naturally  ought  to 
be  a part  of  Boston,  — but  Brookline’s  taxes  are 
$10  on  $1,000;  Boston’s  are  $15.  Brookline  has 
a safe  and  honest  government.  Boston  has  not. 
'When  Boston  invites  Brookline  to  join  her,  Brook- 
line says,  No,  I thank  you.  We  don’t  want  to 
be  annexed.  We 'don’t  care  to  come  under  the 
Catholic  yoke.” 

How  are  the  taxes  spent?  First,  in  junketing. 
Junketing  leads  to  jobs  and  jobbery  — contracts 
with  a cat  in  the  meal  tub. 

When  the  corner-stone  of  the  Soldiers’  Monu- 
ment on  Boston  Common  was  laid,  the  city  council 


46 


CATHOLIC  ClimiCII  IN  POLITICS. 


could  not  march  lialf  a mile  without  $1,500  for 
hats,  badges,  and  refreshments.  jNIen  that  had 
never  taken  a step  in  battle,  but  profited  by  staying 
at  home  ; not  patriotic  enough  to  Avear  their  own 
hats.  AVhen  completed,  it  cost  nearly  as  much  to 
dedicate  the  monument  as  to  build  it  — $40,000  ! 
Tlie  cost  of  thnt  baby  was  in  the  christening . 

DoAvn  the  harbor,  on  one  occasion,  it  took  $1 ,500 
for  these  men  to  wet  their  whistles!  What  enor- 
mous whistles  some  of  them  must  have  ! 

When  Mount  Hope  Cemetery  was  to  be  conse- 
crated they  had  to  prepare  themselves  for  the 
solemn  occasion.  You  cannot  consecrate  a grave- 
yard without  mourning.  How  shall  you  mourn 
Avithout  weeping?  How  can  you  Aveep  Avithout 
red  eyes?  Why,  dear  me  ! it  cost  $300  to  furnish 
that  committee  Avith  red  eyes. 

During  the  last  year  of  jMayor  Prince’s  rule  the 
bills  for  refreshments  at  the  Parker  House  alone 
Avere  $14,525  ; besides  bills  from  eight  other  hotels. 
Bills  for  cigars  at  Hyneman  Brothers,  $1,459, 
besides  bills  from  thirteen  other  cigar  stores. 

Junketings  for  that  year  cost  over  $40,000 ; 
while  under  jobs,  change  of  plans  and  contracts, 
change  of  contractors  to  suit  favorites,  cost  over  a 
million.  Such  is  Catholic  Democratic  rule. 


CHAPTER  V. 


BOW  TO  CARRY  A CATHOLIC  DEMOCRATIC  CAUCUS.  — 
THE  WAY  TO  GET  A NOMINATION  FOR  CONGRESS. 

" Hurrah  ! Hurrah  ! Hurrah  ! ” 

It  was  a terriHc  yell, — an  Indian  warwhoop 
that  struck  my  ear. 

" What ’s  up  ? ” I asked  of  a man  standing  at  the 
ward-room  of  one  of  the  city  school-houses. 

"Democratic  caucus,  sir.  Outsiders  have  come 
in  and  are  running  the  meeting ; regular  voters  of 
the  ward  are  left  out  in  the  cold,  and  it  makes  ’em 
mad.” 

"Outsiders?” 

"Yes,  sir;  friends  of  Pat  McSvveeney.” 

"Who  is  Pat  McSweeney  ? ” 

" What ! Did  n’t  you  ever  hear  of  McSweeney, 
of  this  ward,  sir?  Why,  he’s  a great  political 
wire-puller,  — or  thinks  he  is.  He  wants  to  go  to 
Congress,  and  he’s  'packed’  this  caucus  so  as  to 
send  his  own  delegates  to  the  convention.” 

"Why  do  regular  residents  of  the  ward  sub- 
mit?” 

"Faith,  and  they  can’t  help  themselves,  sir. 


48 


A CATHOLIC  DEMOCRATIC  CAUCUS. 


Look  in  that  room  I There’s  McSweeney’s  back- 
ers thick  as  flies  round  a molasses  barrel.  They 
are  two  to  one  of  the  legal  voters.  His  Charles- 
town friends  say  to  each  other,  'Mac’s  going  to 
run  for  Congress  ; let’s  go  over  to  the  caucus  and 
give  him  a lift.’  His  Chelsea  friends  say  the  same, 
and  over  they  come.  Now,  McSweeney  belongs 
to  the  St.  Michael’s  Catholic  Lyceum  over  there  in 
Ward  20,  so  they  send  a strong  delegation  to  help 
him  out.  And  so  you  see,  sir,  McSweeney  has  it 
all  his  own  way.  Oh,  it’s  a regular  put-up  job. 
A fraud  on  the  public,  sir.” 

I fancied  this  man  was  a "sorehead.”  His  tone 
and  looks  betrayed  him.  I went  into  the  caucus 
to  see  for  myself. 

A perfect  babel  of  sounds  greeted  my  entrance. 
It  was  bedlam  broke  loose  ! The  large  room  Avas 
full  of  excited  men ; many  of  them  shouting  and 
talking  all  together,  — some  crying,  " Mr.  Chair- 
man ! Mr.  Chairman  ! ” at  the  tops  of  their  lungs, 
— each  trying  to  outyell  his  neighbor. 

The  chairman  could  not  be  seen.  A triple  row 
of  men  and  boys  stood  on  the  settees  in  front,  or 
were  croAvded  six  deep  round  the  bar,  behind  which 
stood  the  officers  of  the  caucus.  Six  policemen 
to  protect  them.  These  men  and  boys  formed  an 
impenetrable  screen, — a living  Avail.  Those  in 
the  body  of  the  ward-room  could  neither  see 


GETTING  A NOmNATION  FOR  CONGRESS.  49 


through  them  nor  get  through  them.  They 
held  the  fort  ” against  all  comers. 

I soon  learned  what  it  all  meant.  They  wero 
McSweeney’s  friends.  Friends  from  Charlestown, 
friends  from  Chelsea ; friends  from  St.  Michael’s 
Lyceum,  and  some  of  them  apparently  were  friends 
just  arrived  from  Concord^  or  down  the  harbor  I 
They  were  a motley  looking  set.  It  was  Democ- 
racy carrying  its  ends  by  its  favorite  methods. 
The  joke  of  it  was,  that  it  was  Greek  meeting 
Greek  ! Democrats  lighting  Democrats  ! Irish- 
men outwitting  Irishmen  ! Catholics  — figura- 
lively  speaking  — cutting  Catholic  throats  ! 

The  temporary  chairman  was  putting  some  ques- 
tion as  I entered.  There  came  a slight  lull  in  the 
storm,  and  the  officer’s  voice  was  heard,  saying,  — 

” It  is  moved  and  seconded  that  Dennis  O’Flah- 
erty take  the  chair.  Those  in  favor  of  the  motion 
will  say  'Aye.’” 

A yell  from  the  solid  phalanx  in  front  succeeded. 
It  was  " Aye  I ” with  a thousand  variations,  drown- 
ing all  other  sounds.  Such  a "Ya-h-h!”  Such 
a yell  you  never  heard.  The  walls  shook ; the 
very  foundations  of  the  building  seemed  to  rock 
with  the  thunders  of  that  yell. 

" Contrary  minded  will  say  'No  I’”  continued 
the  chairman. 

The  nay  vote  sounded  like  a feeble  echo. 


50 


A CATHOLIC  DEMOCRATIC  CAUCUS. 


”Tlie  ayes  have  it ! ” said  the  presiding  officer; 
and  then  ensued  a tumult  that  would  rival  Paiide- 
moniuin. 

”The  caucus  is  packed  I Clean  ’em  out  I ” 

” The  check-list ! The  check-list ! ” 

" It ’s  a fraud  ! A put-up  job  ! ” 

Order  ! Order  ! Ballot ! Ballot ! ” 

" Give  us  the  ballots  ! the  ballots  ! Ballots  ! ” 

” Question  ! Question  ! Put  the  question  ! ” 

Such  cries,  such  a scramlile,  were  never  seen 
outside  of  a North  End  caucus  before.  Such  pro- 
fanity and  foul  slang  never  heard,  except  in  the 
dives  and  stews  of  a great  city. 

And  six  stalwart  policemen  looking  on,  calm 
and  unconcerned,  as  if  at  roll-call.  Prol)ably  they 
were  used  to  it.  Had  been  to  Democratic  cau- 
cuses before. 

Durino^  the  din  and  hubbub  Mr.  Dennis  O’Flah- 
erty  had  quietly  taken  the  chair,  and  a secretary 
been  appointed.  Then  motions  were  rapidly  made, 
seconded,  and  carried  by  the  friends  of  Mr.  Mc- 
Sweeney,  the  indignant  and  riotous  crowd  outside 
having  no  voice  in  the  proceedings,  scarcely  know- 
ing what  was  going  on. 

The  result  as  announced  by  the  chair,  when  at 
last  the  noise  had  spent  itself,  and  his  voice  could 
be  heard,  was  fifty-six  delegates  elected,  — all  Pat 
McSweeney’s  friends  and  supporters : State  con- 


GETTING  A NOMINATION  FOR  CONGRESS.  51 


venlion,  14  ; senatorial,  14  ; councillor  district,  14  ; 
congressional,  14.  These  last  instructed  to  vote 
for  McSweeney,  first,  last,  and  all  the  time. 

Where  were  the  property  holders  ? The  respect- 
able Democratic  property  holders  of  that  ward? 
Why  were  they  not  present  in  force  ? There  were 
1,343  Democratic  votes  cast  in  this  same  ward  at 
the  last  Presidential  election.  Not  one  third  of 
that  number  at  the  caucus.  Scarcely  a man  in 
that  crowd  had  a bank  account,  a roof  to  shelter 
him,  or  represented  property  in  any  shape.  De- 
cency and  respectability  were  conspicuous  by  their 
absence. 

I said  to  one  of  the  leaders,  ''  Then  it ’s  the 
strongest  lungs  that  count  the  most,  eh?” 

"Faix,  an’  it’s  right  you  are,  sir!  Stout  lungs 
go  far  in  carryin’  a caucus,  sure.  It ’s  aquil  to  tin 
votes  is  a good,  square,  Dimrnicratic  shout;,  an’ 
we  ’re  the  b’ys  that  know  how  to  do  it,  you  bet, 
— an’  shout  at  the  roight  time,  too,  begorra  I ” 

I left  the  ward-room  digesting  this  piece  of  Dem- 
ocratic candor.  What  a fine  thing  to  be  a poli- 
tician I How  nice  to  have  your  friends  come  in 
from  the  country,  kick  out  the  regular  voters,  and 
carry  the  caucus  just  exactly  as  you  cut  and  dried 
it.  A " bolt”  was  organizing  outside.  Those  who 
had  been  tricked  were  full  of  vengeance.  Loud 
were  the  threats  against  the  McSweeney  faction. 


52 


A CATHOLIC  DEMOCKATIC  CAUCUS. 


The  liarmony  of  the  Democratic  party  in  that  ward 
was  disturbed. 

Such  is  Catholic  Democracy  in  the  large  cities  of 
America.  The  tax-payers  of  thirteen  millions  in 
this  ward  have  about  as  much  voice  in  elections  as 
an  old  cheese  has  among  rats.  I have  lived  in  the 
neighborhood  of  this  ward  for  nearly  twenty-five 
years.  I have  seen  rich  men  leave,  honorable 
men,  driven  by  hoodlums,  until  I find  but  one  man 
left  of  the  old  style.  He  is  president  of  an  insur- 
ance company,  will  leave  in  a few  days,  and  carry 
his  property  with  him.  One  man  carried  eight 
millions  of  personal  property,  not  only  out  of  the 
city  but  out  of  the  State. 

I ask  the  Church  to  pause.  My  night-school 
boys,  now  grown  up,  are  almost  to  a man  Catholics. 
Not  a city  council,  not  a legislature,  but  is  repre- 
sented by  my  boys.  Maii}^  a law  office,  from  the 
office  of  Ben  Butler  down,  is  honored  by  them. 
Yet  what  can  they  do,  mere  striplings,  to  reform 
the  priest  or  the  Church?  Only  the  other  day, 
one  of  these  young  men,  while  at  his  devotions  at 
the  altar,  was  met  by  the  curate  who  said,  "Ah! 
you  are  siding  with  that  Morgan,  heh?  Double 
penance,  sir  1 ” Again  I ask  the  Church  to  pause. 
The  crippling  of  the  priesthood  may  yet  become  as 
imperative  in  America  as  the  fall  of  the  Bastile  in 
France. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


WHO  CONTROI,  THE  DAILY  PRESS?  JESUITS  IN  THE 

EDITORIAL  CHAIR.  JESUITS  IN  THE  COUNTING-ROOM. 

JESUITS  AS  WATCH-DOGS. 

The  Dutch  have  taken  Holland,  hut  the  Irish 
have  taken  Boston  ! It  is  said  that  Boston  is  the 
most  Irish  city  in  America.  However  that  may 
be,  it  is  certain  that  foreiofners  — Catholic  forei^n- 
ers  — "rule  the  roost”  in  the  city  of  the  Puritans. 
Foreign  ideas  are  supplanting  Puritan  ideas.  For- 
eign votes,  as  I have  shown  in  the  previous  chapter, 
drive  the  descendants  of  the  Puritans  out  of  their 
heritage.  Foreign  office-holders  in  city  depart- 
ments are  the  rule  where  once  they  were  the  ex- 
ception. This  may  be  well ; for  we  are  all  foreign- 
ers here,  except  the  Indians.  It  is  well,  provided 
they  are  true  men. 

Foreigners  also  fill  the  priso'ns,  jails,  houses  of 
correction,  and  poorhouses.  By  and  by  I shall 
give  the  figures  ; startling  figures  they  are,  too  ! 

Scarcely  a low  resort  in  Boston  but  is  run  by  a 
foreigner.  Scarcely  a newspaper  but  has  its  Cath- 
olic watch-dog, — either  editor,  publisher,  or  part- 


54 


WHO  CONTROL  THE  DAILY  PRESS? 


ner.  If  you  don’t  believe  it,  watch  the  columns 
of  your  favorite  daily.  Do  you  ever  see  any  edi- 
torials on  the  Catholic  Church  ? Any  word  call- 
ing the  church  to  account?  Any  scandal  in  which 
a priest  is  implicated?  — while  whole  columns  are 
given  if  a Protestant  minister  commits  a faux  ims 
or  betrays  a trust. 

Father  Titus,  vicar-general  of  the  diocese  of 
Boston,  the  hero  of  my  book,  " Boston  Inside  Out,’’ 
may  corrupt  a young  wife  at  the  altar,  pour  poison 
into  her  ear  at  the  confessional,  carry  on  a shameful 
Uason  for  years  under  the  very  nose  of  a confiding 
husl)and.  Yet  when  that  husl)and  has  his  eyes 
opened,  beholds  the  sanctity  of  his  home  invaded, 
the  wife  of  his  bosom  betrayed,  and,  more  horri- 
ble still,  learns  that  two  children,  loved  as  the 
very  apple  of  his  eye,  are  not  his, — not  a paper  in 
Boston  will  publish  the  facts  ! No,  indeed  ! Not 
a word  against  a priest ! Not  a word  against  the 
holy  and  immaculate  Catholic  Church  I 

And  Father  Titus  dies  in  the  odor  of  sanctity; 
is  held  up  as  a model,  almost  canonized  as  a saint, 
while  his  victim  wanders,  a homeless,  hopeless, 
and  broken-hearted  man  ! 

I shall  have  more  to  say  about  this  in  future 
chapters,  giving  the  facts  as  related  by  the  be- 
trayed husband  in  his  own  words  and  under  his 
own  hand. 


JESUITS  IN  THE  EDITOEIAL  CHAIR. 


55 


Scarcely  a Boston  daily  dares  breathe  a word 
that  reflects  on  the  Catholic  Church,  I say.  A 
doctor  of  divinity,  who  is  the  regular  correspond- 
ent of  a leading  Boston  daily,  said  to  me  : — 

” 1 furnish  the  religious  news  for  that  paper,  — 
everything  on  church  matters ; but  whenever  I 
say  an^dhiiig  about  the  Catholic  Church  it  is  sure 
to  be  cut  out.” 

"Of  course,  doctor,”  said  I,  "that  paper  has  a 
Jesuit  for  a partner,  a Jesuit  and  a Democrat  at  the 
desk.  Though  a Republican  and  prohibitory  jour- 
nal, it  won’t  publish  any  criticism  on  the  Catholic 
Church ! ” 

Two  years  ago  several  Boston  papers  published 
clairvoyant  advertisements  and  personals.  More 
immorality  and  vice  hidden  under  those  advertise- 
ments than  would  be  believed.  I made  startling 
disclosures  respecting  them  in  my  " Boston  Inside 
Out”  lectures  at  Music  Hall.  They  awoke  a 
powerful  public  sentiment.  Most  of  the  newspa- 
pers bowed  to  that  sentiment,  — refused  henceforth 
to  publish  those  advertisements.  The  same  of  the 
lotteiy  advertisements,  — " L.  S.  L.”  — Louisiana 
State  Lottery.  ' 

i\Iy  efforts  caused  that  pernicious  advertisement 
to  be  expelled  from  every  daily  paper  in  Boston. 
Only  one  weekly  paper  dared  publish  it,  — a reli- 
gious paper,  organ  of  the  Catholic  Church,  — 
the  Boston  Pilot;  Archbishop  Williams,  chief 


56 


WHO  CONTROL  THE  DAILY  PRESS? 


proprietor;  Boyle  O’Reilly,  editor.  There  is  a 
slip  cut  from  the  Pilot  of  last  week,  headed,  you 
see,  ''L.  S.  L.”  \_IIoldmg  up  an  extract.']  Here 
you  have  the  immaculate,  the  infallible  church, — 
head  of  all  piety  and  morality, — the  church  that 
never  could  do  wrong,  openly  encouraging  the 
vice  of  gambling  and  defying  the  law. 

I sent  word  to  the  Police  Commissioners  : "That 
advertisement  is  against  the  law.  You  just  have 
it  out  in  a week ! ” And  they  did.  Next  week 
the  Pilot  bitterly  assailed  me  for  my  lecture  on 
" The  Catholic  Church  in  Politics.”  It  took  my 
dose  to  heart.  It  was  too  much  for  its  sensitive 
stomach,  — stirred  up  the  bile.  You  tread  on  a 
snake  and  it  is  bound  to  squirm : it  is  the  nature 
of  the  animal  to  squirm,  and  hiss,  and  sting.  I 
was  glad  to  see  that  my  exposures  had  struck  home. 
I felt  encouraged.  Reform  cannot  be  accomplished 
without  blows  on  both  sides.  To  " give  and  take  ” 
is  the  very  essence  of  reform. 

Now,  the  editor  of  the  Pilot  professes  to  be  an 
admirer  of  this  principle.  He  says  he  believes  in 
a fair  stand-up  fight,  — in  the  " manly  art  of  self- 
defence.”  His  admiration  leads  him  to  go  to  New 
York  to  witness  two  notorious  Catholic  pugilists 
hammer  away  at  each  other,  — punch  each  other’s 
noses.  One,  an  Irishman,  Tug  Wilson ; the 
other,  John  L.  Sullivan,  a Boston  "bruiser.” 


JESUITS  IN  THE  EDITORIAL  CHAIR. 


57 


Well,  if  that  is  piety,  — Catholic  piety,  — I say 
cross  yourselves  three  times,  say  an  " Ave  Maria,” 
take  a little  holy  water,  and  go  in  and  win. 

These  two  pugilists  were  in  the  mill,  going  to  be 
ground,  — one  of  them,  I suppose,  — and  Mayor 
Grace  of  New  York  City,  a Catholic,  sanctioning 
the  exhibition  on  one  hand,  and  the  representative 
of  the  Catholic  element  in  New  England  — editor 
of  the  archbishop’s  organ  — giving  grace  and 
”tone”  to  it  on  the  other  hand. 

Now,  I am  told  that  John  Boyle  O’Reilly  is  a 
gentleman  and  a scholar  ; a poet  and  a literary  man 
of  note ; a member,  also,  of  the  Papyrus  Club, 
and  a social  favorite.  I am  told,  also,  that  he  is 
an  escaped  Fenian  convict.  I don’t  know  hovv  to 
reconcile  the  last  with  the  others.  However,  in  his 
next  week’s  paper,  he  comes  out  in  defence  of  the 
” manly  art  of  self-defence”;  and  last  week,  on 
account  of  my  lecture,  he  pays  his  respects  to  your 
humble  servant,  and  insinuates  that  I had  better 
look  out  for  mob  law.  M^ell,  now  I am  not  a bit 
scared  at  that  threat.  It  is  all  empty  wind.  Mob 
law  is  a thing  of  the  past  in  Boston.  And  you 
may  tell  him  that,  as  surely  as  we  live  in  Boston, 
there  is  not  a dark  hour  of  the  night,  there  is  not 
a crowd  of  Boston  roughs  and  hoodlums,  but 
what  Henry  IMorgan  can  pass  through  them  all 
in  safety ; and  they  will  touch  their  hats  to  him 


58 


WTIO  CONTROL  THE  DAILY  PRESS? 


with  respect.  They  believe  in  the  moral  effect  of 
law  still  ill  Boston.  Boycotting  is  not  yet  im- 
ported in  free  America. 

Now  I say,  though  it  is  advocated  by  the  lead- 
ing Catholic  organ  of  America,  that  this  same 
manly  art  of  self-defence  ” is  demoralizing,  per- 
nicious, brutal,  and  should  be  met  with  all  the 
rigors  of  the  law.  It  is  a part  of  the  heathenism 
of  the  Dark  Ages,  — a relic  of  barbarism. 

But  is  not  the  Catholic  Church  itself  a relic  of 
barbarism?  A relic  possessing  wonderful  vitality, 
it  is  true.  But  so  had  African  slavery  a wonder- 
ful vitality — handed  down  from  prehistoric  times, 
and  made  to  live  and  flourish  even  on  free  Ameri- 
can soil  (as  the  church  still  flourishes  in  spite  of 
its  corruption)  — until  America  arose  in  her  might 
and  with  one  Titanic  blow  struck  off  the  shackles 
from  every  slave,  and  gave  four  millions  the  badge 
and  heritage  of  freedom. 

O 

This  Catholic  element,  represented  by  the  advo- 
cates of  prize-fighting,  encouraging  liquor  selling 
and  gambling,  wholesale  and  retail,  I say  is  bru- 
tal, unchristian. 

Wherever  the  Catholic  Church  is  dominant, 
there  you  will  find  ignorance,  pauperism,  and 
crime.  The  nearer  you  get  to  Rome,  the  more 
degradation,  the  more  wretchedness. 

The  brigandage  of  Italy  is  the  fruit  of  the 


JESUITS  IN  THE  EDITOKIAL  CHAIE. 


59 


Church.  So  is  the  licentiousness  of  France,  super- 
stition and  lax  morality  and  biill-fights  of  Spain 
and  South  American  states,  ignorance  and  squalid 
misery  of  Ireland,  where  twofold  more  money  is 
spent  in  whiskey  than  would  pay  all  the  rents  and 
settle  the  " Irish  question  ” forever,  — all  are  due  to 
the  same  cause,  the  moral  thraldom  of  the  Church 
of  Rome. 

See  that  magnificent  pile,  that  tall  steeple  with 
glittering  cross!  Who  built  it?  Ah  I echo  an- 
swers, "Who?”  It  has  grown  like  a cornstalk, 
fed  by  the  filth  around  it.  Sin  and  crime  are  the 
stock  in  trade  of  the  Church,  — rum  its  chief 
revenue.  Another : A cathedral  located  on  one 
corner,  a rum-shop  and  gambling  den  on  the 
other.  The  rurn-shop  is  a component  part  of  the 
cathedral.  One  grinds  the  grist,  the  other  takes 
the  toll.  Rum  breeds  vice,  and  vice  leads  to  the 
confessional.  It  costs  to  confess  ; costs  to  be  ab- 
solved. The  victim  is  double-taxed,  — taxed  by 
the  rumseller,  taxed  by  the  priest.  And  the  over- 
burdened State  is  taxed  for  the  whole.  Taxed  for 
the  priest,  taxed  for  the  pauper,  taxed  for  the 
criminal,  taxed  for  churches,  taxed  for  priestly 
victims. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


CRIMINAL  STATISTICS. WHO  FURNISH  THE  CRIMINALS  AND 

PAUPERS  ? ROWDYISM  AND  RUFFIANISM  RAMPANT. 

Bishop  Ireland,  at  the  temperance  convention  at 
St.  Paul,  Minn.,  in  the  summer  of  1882,  said:  — 
"The  list  of  culprits  with  Irish  names,  appear- 
ing before  municipal  courts,  filling  municipal  jails 
and  reformatories,  strikes  us  with  horror.  Irish 
names,  doubly  more  than  our  due  proportion,  are 
inscribed  on  our  court  registers  ! What  a shame 
for  the  old  race  ! What  a dis^irace  to  our  relisrion  ! ” 
Such  the  testimony  of  an  Irish  Catholic  bishop, 
not  afraid  to  speak  out. 

Who  are  responsible  for  the  majority  of  the 
crimes  committed  in  Massachusetts,  — in  Boston? 
Ans.  Catholics.  M^ho  fill  the  jails,  prisons, 
poor-houses,  and  houses  of  correction?  Ans. 
Catholics.  Who  own  and  run  the  majority  of  the 
liquor  shops  and  places  of  ill  repute  in  this  city? 
Ans.  Catholics. 

The  police  commissioners  this  year  have  received 
2,100  applications  for  licenses,  1,700  paid  for. 
Look  at  that  list ! Look  at  the  Mac’s  and  the  O’s ; 


WHO  FURNISH  THE  CRimNALS  AND  PAUPERS?  61 


the  IVIiiiphys,  the  Mulligans,  the  Milligans,  and 
Finnigans ! It  looks  too  Celtic  altogether.  It 
sounds  like  a Fenian  roll-call  for  invasion  of 
Canada. 

The  Jew  is  rarely  found  in  the  poorhouse  or 
prison.  The  Quaker  never ! Their  religion  ele- 
vates manhood, — makes  good  citizens.  Even  the 
Chinese  are  thrifty,  self-reliant.  They  respect  the 
laws.  But  unrestricted  Catholicism  breeds  a stand- 
ing army  of  paupers  and  criminals.  The  ignorant 
Catholic  takes  to  the  poorhouse  and  prison  as  a 
duck  takes  to  water. 

Now  for  the  proofs,  — the  bottom  facts.  Heads 
of  penal  institutions,  city  and  State,  supplied  these 
facts  at  my  request  August,  1882. 

Warden  of  State  Prison,  how  many  convicts 
under  your  charge?  Ans.  Six  hundred  and  fifty- 
six.  How  many  are  Catholics?  Ans.  Four 
hundred.  More  than  sixty  per  cent.  What  is 
their  nationality?  Ans.  Chiefly  Irish.  This  is 
more  than  five  times  their  due  proportion,  accord- 
ing to  population. 

Superintendent  State  Reform  School,  Westboro, 
what  proportion  of  Catholic  boys  in  your  school  ? 
Ans.  Sixty-two  per  cent,  chiefly  foreign  parent- 
age. The  boys  cross  themselves  at  their  meals, 
kneel  at  their  bedside,  the  priest  visits  them,  they 
are  taught  to  do  penance,  practise  devotions  regu- 


G2 


CRIMINAL  STATTSTTCS. 


larly,  say  beads  constantly,  and  the  Blessed  Virgin 
will  deliver  them.  Some  don’t  wait,  they  take 
" French  leave.” 

Superintendent  'Woman’s  Pi’ison,  Sherborn, 
how  many  prisoners  have  you?  Ans.  Two  hun- 
dred and  thirty.  About  seven  tenths  are  Catho- 
lics. The  very  large  proportion  of  these  are  Irish  ; 
not  more  than  a dozen  of  other  nationalities. 

Superintendent  of  Deer  Island,  how  many  under 
your  charge  are  Catholics?  Ans.  At  the  very 
least,  seventy-five  per  cent  of  the  whole  number 
of  inmates. 

Keeper  of  City  Jail,  how  many  commitments 
the  past  year?  Ans.  Two  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred and  fifty-one.  How  many  Catholics  ? Ans. 
One  thousand  three  hundred  and  ten,  professed 
Catholics. 

The  assistant  keeper  of  House  of  Correction, 
Cambridge,  reports  that  ninety  per  cent  of  prison- 
ers for  the  past  year  were  foreigners,  the  majority 
being  Irish  Catholics.  The  statistics  of  pauperism, 
public  and  private  charitable  institutions,  show  the 
same  alarming  preponderance.  Thus,  as  I have 
said,  the  number  of  Catholic  criminals  is  out  of  all 
proportion  to  the  Catholic  population  of  the  State. 

Examine  the  penal  and  pauper  records  of  every 
city  and  county  in  the  Commonwealth,  and  similar 
results  as  above  will  be  found.  Statistics  are  their 


WHO  rUKNISH  THE  CRIMINALS  AND  PAUPERS?  63 


own  interpreters.  Figures  tell.  Facts  speak 
louder  than  arguments.  Candid  Catholics,  honest 
Protestants,  citizens  of  all  creeds  and  of  no  creed, 
can  see  for  themselves. 

But  these  are  the  convicted  felons  only.  Who 
shall  say  how  many  criminals  escape  arrest?  IIow 
many  escape  through  negligence  or  connivance  of 
the  police?  How  many  unconvicted  criminals  at 
large  in  this  city? 

There  are  a thousand  professional  thieves  in 
Boston  (not  counting  some  in  the  city  employ), 
a thousand  who  daily  ply  their  trade  under  the 
very  noses  of  the  police,  to  say  nothing  of 
licensed  thieves,  — rumsellers,  gamblers,  policy 
dealers  and  lottery  brokers,  — all  birds  of  prey, 
preying  vulture-like  on  the  community,  and  incit- 
ing to  lawlessness  and  crime. 

Now  what  is  the  cause  of  this  startling  increase 
in  crime?  I answer,  largely  Catholic  influence. 
Catholic  votes,  — influence  in  the  schools,  at  the 
polls,  in  the  courts,  in  the  district  attorney’s 
office.  The  district  attorney  is  chosen  mainly  by 
Catholic  votes.  He  becomes  a dependent,  ap- 
points such  assistants  as  will  please  his  constituents  ; 
is  a court  in  himself.  Through  his  recommenda- 
tion criminals  escape  by  the  score,  — five  hun- 
dred cases  are  nol  pros'd  in  one  year. 

Such  is  the  power  of  the  Catholic  Church. 


64 


CRnnXAL  STATISTICS. 


It  builds  up  the  Church  and  a political  party  at 
the  expense  of  the  State. 

Xo  wonder  then  that  crime  increases,  the  court 
dockets  are  crowded,  law  falls  under  contempt, 
and  social  order  is  a thing  of  the  past  in  Boston. 

Never  was  rowdyism  so  rampant  in  Boston  as 
now.  AVhere  Catholic  churches  and  Catholic  rum- 
shops  are  thickest,  there  turbulence  is  most  preva- 
lent. The  ''  roughs  ” seem  to  have  it  all  their  own 
way  in  Boston.  Never  were  the  streets  so  unsafe. 
Never  so  many  unprovoked  assaults.  Never  so 
much  crime.  Never  so  many  battles  between  the 
police  and  the  dangerous  classes. 

Once  it  was  said  of  Boston  that  a woman  might 
walk  alone  at  night  from  one  end  of  the  city  to  the 
other  in  perfect  safety,  and  fear  no  word  of  insult. 
How  is  it  to-day  ? 

AVhat  mean  these  gangs  of  idle  young  men  that 
prowl  through  the  streets,  elbow  respectability  off 
the  curbstone,  block  the  sidewalks,  and  infest  the 
street  corners  ? Who  are  they  ? Whence  come 
they  ? Can  they  be  Bostonians  born  and  bred  ? 
Are  they  graduates  of  Boston  schools?  Why  do 
respectable  women  pass  them  by  with  averted 
eyes  and  fluttering  hearts  ? What  ribald  jest  or 
coarse  innuendo  quickened  the  step  of  yonder 
matron,  and  caused  her  to  shrink  and  pale  with 
fear  and  indignation?  What  foul  words  smote 


WHO  FURNISH  THE  CROIIXALS  AND  PAUPERS?  65 


that  young  school-girl’s  delicate  ear,  and  brought 
the  flush  of  shame  to  her  pure  cheek? 

Hark ! from  South  Boston,  ^^'hat  sound  is 
that?  A cry  for  help.  An  officer  is  beset  by  the 
mob.  Single-handed  he  fights  a hundred  desper- 
ate men.  Knives  gleam  and  flash  in  the  air. 
Bludgeons  strike  at  him.  Blows  rain  thick  as 
hail  upon  him.  He  clutches  his  prisoner  to  the 
last,  but  falls  bleeding  and  senseless  from  a dozen 
wounds. 

Hark  again ! Bedlam  seems  broken  loose. 
What  is  it?  Only  a mid-day  row  in  a Kichmond 
Street  rum-shop.  Two  policemen  rush  in  to  quell 
the  disturl)ance  ; the  combatants  resist  arrest ; out 
into  the  street  they  struggle  with  the  officers.  It  is 
a tight  of  gladiators.  The  crowd  gathers,  presses 
like  a menacing  cloud  upon  the  policemen.  Yells 
and  cries  and  horrid  imprecations  deafen  their  ears. 

" Let  go  your  prisoners  ! We  ’ll  cut  your  hearts 
out  if  you  arrest  those  men  ! ” And  like  hungry 
wolves  they  fall  upon  the  officers,  beat  both  of 
them  to  the  earth,  trample  them  under  foot,  and 
leave  them  for  dead,  after  rescuing  the  culprits. 

" Murder  ! Help  ! Help  ! for  God’s  sake,  help  !’' 
The  voice  grows  weak,  and  ends  in  a horrid  gurg-  " 
ling  gasp ; then  all  is  still ; that  midnight  cry 
has  roused  the  neighborhood.  They  rush  to  the 
scene,  and  find  an  old  man,  his  gray  hair  dabbled 


66 


CRIMINAL  STATISTICS. 


with  his  life’s  blood,  lying  dead  upon  the  sidewalk. 
Robbed  and  murdered  by  some  party  or  parties 
unknown,  — such  is  the  verdict,  — and  this  in  the 
public  street,  and  no  help  near. 

" Spare  me,  Michael ! Spare  me,  for  the  blissed 
Virgin’s  sake  !”  piteously  cries  a poor  wife,  strug- 
gling in  the  grasp  of  her  drunken  husband.  Un- 
der the  very  shadow  of  the  Cathedral’s  cross  he 
has  spent  her  last  hard-earned  dime  for  drink,  and 
now  demands  more.  ” Sure  it ’s  the  truth  I tell  ye, 
Mike  acushla  ! There ’s  niver  a penny  more  in  the 
house,  or  ye  should  have  it.” 

” Ye  lie,  woman  ! ” shouts  the  maddened  brute, 
seizing  her  by  the  throat  and  dragging  her  to  the 
head  of  the  stairway.  "Give  me  the  money  ye ’ve 
been  hidin’  to  pay  the  rint.  ” 

" Upon  my  sowl,  it ’s  all  gone  ! Ye ’ve  drank  it 
all  up  By  the  saints  I swear  there ’s  niver  a cent 
lift.  Oh!  don’t — don’t,  dear  Mike — it’s  chokin’ 
me  to  dith  ye  are  I Have  mercy  — oh  1 ” 

A shriek  of  mortal  agony  ended  the  words,  as 
the  poor  woman  was  flung  headlong  down  the 
stairway.  They  picked  her  up  unconscious  ; not 
dead,  but  crippled  for  life.  To-day,  Michael  Bran- 
non is  in  State  Prison,  under  a long  sentence, 
and  Margaret  his  wife  is  an  inmate  of  a charitable 
institution,  — both  supported  by  the  State. 

Such  instances  might  be  multiplied  ad  infinitum. 


CHAPTER  Vm. 


EFFECT  OF  CATHOLIC  RULE.  — BOSTON’S  TWO  HUNDRED 
AND  FIFTIETH  ANNIVERSARY.  — OUR  GALLANT  IRISH 
NINTH  REGIMENT. 

Now  what  is  the  effect  of  Catholic  rule  ? Look 
at  the  celebration  of  Boston’s  two  hundred  and 
fiftieth  anniversary  (Sept.  17,  1880).  The  Cath- 
olic office-holders  and  politicians  wanted  to  cele- 
brate. Did  not  care  what,  so  long  as  a large 
appropriation  was  made.  They  decided  to  cele- 
brate the  anniversary  on  the  half-century.  Could 
not  wait  fifty  years  more.  They  wouldn’t  be  in 
office.  Now  was  their  only  chance  to  finger  an 
appropriation.  Well,  what  did  they  do?  In  the 
first  place  they  got  the  Mayor,  a tool  of  the  Cath- 
olics, to  recommend  $25,000  to  celebrate. 

Then  a committee  was  appointed.  Who  was 
the  chairman?  A Catholic  liquor  seller,  — Jim 
Flynn,  present  chairman  of  Common  Council.  He 
fingered  the  appropriation.  He  stopped  at  the 
Parker  House, — treated  the  military  and  other 
guests  in  princely  style. 


68 


EFFECT  OF  CATHOLIC  RULE. 


The  celebration  was  in  honor  of  John  Winthrop, 
one  of  the  founders  of  Boston,  a Protestant  Puri- 
tan, and  Bible  reader.  On  that  day  a statue  to 
his  memory  was  unveiled  in  Scollay  Square.  Be- 
fore that  statue  the  grand  procession  moved. 
First  came  the  trades.  These  were  followed  by 
moral  and  religious  societies,  nearly  all  Catholic. 
Orangemen,  with  Bible  in  hand,  were  refused  per- 
mission to  march.  AYhy?  The  politicians  said, 
" Catholics  are  sensitive ; they  want  no  Bible 
readers  ; their  feelings  must  be  respected,  or  we 
lose  their  votes  next  election.”  So  the  Orange- 
men were  ruled  out,  Bible  and  all. 

The  Father  Mathew  Total- Abstinence  Socie- 
ties, with  the  priests  and  officers  in  carriages, 
under  silken  banners,  led  the  van.  Bloated  liquor 
drinkers,  not  over  two  hours  out  of  the  grog- 
shops, sat  under  these  flaunting  standards  as  lead- 
ers and  representatives  of  total  abstinence.  A 
noted  liquor  seller  of  North  End  acted  as  marshal 
of  this  division.  " Touch  not,  taste  not,  handle 
not ! ” was  the  motto.  What  mockery  ! What  a 
spectacle  for  temperance  ! 

Next  came  the  children.  What  children  ? Not 
of  the  schools.  Boston  was  founded  on  the  public- 
school  principle.  Always  proud  of  her  children. 
Signalized  every  great  event  by  parading  the  public 
schools.  Every  May  Day  was  celebrated  by  a 


OUR  GALLANT  IRISH  NINTH  REGIMENT. 


H9 

school  procession.  When  Lafayette  visited  Bos- 
ton, the  schools  turned  out  en  masse  to  welcome 
him.  The  proudest  boast  of  Wendell  Phillips  was 
that  he,  a Boston  school  boy,  on  that  day,  shook 
the  great  French  general  and  patriot  by  the  hand.  . 

Now,  on  this  two  hundred  and  fiftieth  anniver- 
sary, where  was  Boston’s  pride,  her  children? 
What  children?  Not  a pupil  in  that  procession, 
except  those  of  private  Catholic  institutions.  All 
anti-Puritan,  anti-American,  on  whose  banners 
might  be  written,  "Death  to  free  schools! 
Twenty  years  hence  free  school-houses  for  sale  or 
to  let!  ” This,  too,  in  honor  of  John  Winthrop, 
founder  of  Boston  schools  ! Shades  of  the  Puri- 
tans ! venerable  pioneer  ! Great  heavens  ! if  that 
statue  could  have  spoken,  what  burning  words  it 
would  have  uttered  at  the  ridiculous,  almost 
blasphemous,  mockery  ! If  it  had  possessed  the 
life  and  animation  of  the  original,  how  its  hair 
would  have  stood  on  end ; what  horror  and  in- 
dignation would  have  convulsed  that  noble  brow, 
what  tears  of  grief  and  anguish  gushed  from  the 
eyes,  at  such  a burlesque  of  Boston’s  free  schools  ! 

The  State  militia  were  out  in  full  force.  They 
made  a prominent  part  of  the  brilliant  pageant. 
Conspicuous  in  the  parade  was  the  Irish  Ninth 
Regiment.  This  was  before  their  trouble.  Before 
this  " crack  liquor  guard”  of  our  volunteers  fell  into 


70 


EFFECT  OF  CATHOLIC  RULE. 


ill-repiite  ; before  the  " heroes  of  the  cork  and  can- 
teen” disgraced  themselves  at  Yorktown  and 
brought  reproach  on  ^Massachusetts’ citizen  soldiery. 
That  regiment  was  sent  to  take  part  in  the  Yorktown 
Centennial.  Sent  to  represent  the  patriotism, 
piety,  and  morality  of  the  old  Bay  State.  Nearly 
every  man  a Catholic,  and  accompanied  by  a Cath- 
olic priest  as  chaplain.  Nearly  every  officer  in  the 
regiment  a Catholic  riimscller.  It  was  said  the 
different  companies  took  liquor  enough  with  them 
to  fill  a Cork  distillery ! Some  of  the  most  re- 
spectable firms  of  Boston  contributed  towards  the 
expenses,  amounting  to  $10,000,  to  have  our  mili- 
tia represented  at  the  celebration.  iVmong  these 
were  Jordan,  Marsh  & Co.,  and  the  Boston  Her- 
aid.  The  Boston  Beer  Company  of  South  Boston, 
with  an  eye  to  business,  contributed  $500  ; the 
advertisement  worth  twice  that  sum.  At  Bich- 
mond  the  so-called  Gallant  Ninth  ” forgot  their 
gallantry;  they  stole  rides  on  the  darkies’ mules, 
and  hugofed  the  negro  damsels.  Blinded  with  too 
much  of  the  ” crature,”  2:>otlLeen  got  the  l)ost  of 
them.  They  forgot  the  " color  line,”  first  time  in 
Irish  history  ! However,  they  aroused  the  ire  of 
decent  citizens  in  Virginia.  On  the  return  thev 
had  to  go  through  Richmond  at  full  steam  to  avoid 
being  stoned  by  the  indignant  mob.  AVhen  they 
reached  Boston  a grand  reception  was  ordered  to 


OUR  GALLANT  IRISH  NINTH  REGIMENT.  71 


be  given  them  in  Faneuil  Hall  at  the  city’s  ex- 
pense. A premium  for  good  conduct,  forsooth  ! 
Hurrah  for  our  gallant  soldier  boys  ! Hurrah  for 
the  honor  they  had  bestowed  on  Massachusetts  ! 

But  there  was  no  concealing  the  facts.  The  tel- 
egraph and  local  newspapers  had  flashed  the  dis- 
"iistins:  news  all  over  the'  land.  Massachusetts 
had  been  disgraced  through  her  chosen  representa- 
tives. For  the  first  time  in  her  proud  records  she 
was  obli2:ed  to  han"  her  diminished  head  and 
blush  with  feelinsfs  of  burninof  shame. 

Gov.  Long  ordered  an  investigation,  and  in- 
flicted a heavy  punishment.  He  said,  "The  guilty 
ones  must  be  dishonorably  discharged  from  the 
service.”  And  they  had  to  go.  The  regiment 
was  prohibited  by  him  from  appearing  in  public 
for  six  months.  One  of  Boston’s  police  commis- 
sioners, a Baptist,  accompanied  the  regiment. 
He  was  n’t  tight  himself,  yet  with  two  eyes  in  his 
head,  failed  to  see  anything  wrong.  It  is  policy 
sometimes  for  a politician  to  be  blind  where  votes, 
influence,  and  office  are  at  stake. 

The  investigating  committee,  consisting  of  Major 
H.  B.  Sargent,  elr.,  Capt.  D.  F.  Dolan,  and  Judge- 
Advocate  Arthur  Lincoln,  reported  the  following  : 
"The  misconduct  of  the  men  consisted  in  jumping 
on  to  and  taking  possession  of  carts  and  drays 
against  the  will  of  the  drivers,  and  sometimes 


72  EFFECT  OF  CATHOLIC  RULE. 

pulling  the  drivers  from  their  seats ; jumping  on 
to  the  backs  of  mules  liarnessed  to  carts ; parad- 
ing up  and  down  the  streets  and  sidewalks  with 
brooms  or  sticks  in  their  hands,  sometimes  in 
shirt-sleeves ; shouting  in  a boisterous  manner ; 
jostling  and  running  one  after  another  in  the 
streets,  and  obstructing  the  way,  and  sometimes 
under  the  influence  of  liquor ; in  one  instance, 
pulling  two  small  flags  from  the  decorations,  and, 
in  another,  jumping  upon  and  breaking  down  a 
canvas  cot  placed  as  an  advertisement  upon  the 
sidewalk ; ordering  drinks  at  bar  rooms  and  not 
paying  for  them ; going  through  the  market  pelt- 
ing one  another  with  potatoes,  cranberries,  etc., 
snatched  from  fruit-stands,  and  in  one  case  taking 
some  cheap  jewelry  from  a shop  and  not  paying 
for  it ; snatching  articles  from  girls’  hands  in  the 
streets ; putting  their  caps  on  to  negro  women’s 
heads ; embracino:  and  kissing  neofro  women  and 
others  in  the  public  streets  ; approaching  and  ad- 
dressing women,  some  of  them  young  girls,  in  an 
improper  and  familiar  way ; forcing  a colored 
woman  to  drink  by  holding  a canteen  to  her 
mouth ; visiting  Libby  Prison,  and,  against  the 
keeper’s  protest,  knocking  down  bricks  out  of 
the  inside  wall  to  take  away  as  mementos;  in  one 
instance,  striking,  in  a drunken  manner,  with  a 
heavy  stick,  the  horse  and  carriage  of  a lady  driv- 
ing on  a public  street,  and  obstructing  her  way ; 


OUR  GALLANT  IRISH  NINTH  REGIMENT.  73 

rtnd  in  coinmitting  other  acts  of  a similar  nature. 
Much  of  this  eouduct  was  from  ignorance  of  good 
breeding,  and  some  of  it  was  clearly  the  result  of 
over-indulgence  in  drinking.” 

When  the  official  axe  of  Gov.  Long  fell,  and 
a score  or  more  were  dishonorably  discharged,  it 
aroused  the  anger  of  the  Irish  citizens.  The 
members  of  the  regiment  were  also  very  wrathful. 
Their  indiirnation  against  Gov.  Long  knew  no 
bounds.  They  threatened  all  sorts  of  vengeance. 
Some  of  the  more  hot-headed  ones  threatened  to 
stack  their  arms  on  the  State  House  steps  and 
hang  their  knapsacks  on  the  fence,  and  demand  the 
reinstatement  of  the  expelled  men  ; others  said 
they  would  work  for  the  disbandment  of  the  regi- 
ment, and  some  of  the  officers  resigned  their  com- 
missions. All  this  was  intended  as  a rebuke  to 
the  governor. 

Now  the  tables  are  turned.  J.  D.  Long  has 
vacated  the  chair;  B.  F.  Butler  takes  his  place. 
Butler  loves  the  Irish  — when  it  pays ; he  loves 
them,  because  he  imbibed  that  love  from  his  moth- 
er’s Celtic  breast. 

The  Irish  Catholics  have  at  last  full  control  at 
City  Hall.  Chairmen  of  both  branches  of  the  city 
government  Irish  Catholics.  Catholics  in  every 
department.  Eule  of  our  modern  civil-service 
reform  is,  " Turn  out  old  and  worthy  officials  and 
appoint  Irish  Democrats.”  The  hungry  hordes 


74 


EFFECT  OF  CATHOLIC  RULE. 


have  at  last  got  hold  of  the  public  crib.  Xow 
look  out  for  large  appropriations,  jobs,  and  jun- 
ketings, all  in  the  name  of  retrenchment  and 
reform  ! And  the  Church  is  not  ofoinof  to  be 
left,  " you  bet.”  Oh,  what  a heaven-born  privilege 
to  be  a tax-payer  of  Boston  ! Trust  a dog  with 
your  dinner  ! Trust  these  men  with  economy,  re- 
trenchment, and  civil-service  reform  ! 

Mr.  Hugh  O’Brien  is  said  to  be  the  most  eco- 
nomical of  the  lot ; yet  when  he  was  chairman  of 
the  Board  of  Aldermen,  under  Mayor  Prince,  he 
gave  a farewell  dinner  at  the  city’s  expense,  order- 
ing every  detail  of  the  banquet  himself,  costing  the 
city  $837.60.  The  participants  were  thirty-eight 
in  number,  — $22.04  per  })late  ; "a  royal  price, 
even  for  an  alderman,”  says  the  Daily  Advertiser. 
If  we  count  the  twelve  aldermen  alone,  price  per 
plate,  $69.80.  Well  may  the  Parker  House  be  in 
favor  of  Irish  Catholic  Democracy,  when  it  pockets 
$13,000  a year  from  the  city  treasury  for  refresh- 
ments, at  that  rate  ! 

The  Irish  are  sensitive.  Gov.  Gaston,  a Demo- 
crat, refused  to  review  an  Irish  regiment  because  it 
was  not  legally  organized.  Gaston  from  that  day 
forth  was  "left.”  Mayor  Prince,  a Democrat, 
could  not  get  slices  of  office  enough  to  go  round  ; 
he  was  scratched ; Eepublicans  alone  saved  him. 
Mayor  Green,  a Democrat,  hobnobbed  with  priests, 
played  toady  at  their  fairs  and  Sunday  concerts ; 


OUR  GALLANT  IRISH  NINTH  REGIMENT.  75 


l)ut  they  scalped  him  at  the  last  election.  Gov. 
Lons:  had  so  roused  the  Irish  ire  that  he  cared  not 
to  run  attain  for  ofovernor.  The  Irish  Ninth  is  the 
" crack  ” regiment  so  called  ; yet  look  at  its  record  ! 

Col.  William  M.  Strachan,  Catholic  liquor  seller, 
denies  some  of  the  above  charges  against  the 
Ninth,  but  reports  the  following  for  improper 
conduct : — 

Company  A.  — James  Atchison,  intoxication; 
Private  John  Green,  running  after  colored  women 
in  the  streets ; Private  Edward  Gray,  intoxica- 
tion; Private  William  J.  Wall,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  liquor  and  refusing  to  obey  the  order  of 
his  captain;  James  A.  White,  jumping  on  mule- 
carts. 

Company  B.  — Musician  Timothy  Donohue, 
jumping  on  mules’  backs  and  taking  mules  from 
carts ; Private  Cornelius  J.  Donovan,  jumping 
into  mule-carts ; Private  Daniel  E.  Ilarrigan, 
jumping  into  mule-carts ; Private  Peter  Powers, 
walking  through  the  streets  with  a broom  over  his 
shoulder. 

Company  C.  — Private  Patrick  Scannell,  dis- 
obedience of  orders  in  not  going  aboard  cars  Avhen 
ordered  by  the  commanding  officer  ; Private  Thos. 
J.  Dugan,  under  the  influence  of  liquor;  Private 
JohnT.  Sullivan,  intoxication,  and  in  shirt-sleeves 
on  the  street. 

Company  D,  — John  J.  Quinn,  intoxication. 


76 


EFFECT  OF  CATHOLIC  RULE. 


Company  E,  — Private  John  E.  Connors, 
jumping  into  carts,  and  also  under  the  influence  of 
liquor;  Private  iNIichael  W.  Clifford,  jumping  on 
mules’  backs  and  on  carts. 

Company  J.  — Private  Eugene  Murphy,  intoxi- 
cation. 

Company  G.  — ^Musician  John  A.  McGlinchy, 
unsoldierly  conduct;  Private  James  J.  Hewett, 
intoxication,  and  jumping  on  locomotive  at  depot. 

Company  IL  — Private  Thomas  J.  Burk,  jump- 
ing on  mule-carts ; Private  James  J.  McQuillon, 
jumping  on  mule-carts. 

Now,  if  the  above  aldermen,  councilmen,  and 
militia-men  are  to  represent  the  wealth  and  culture 
of  famous  old  Boston,  all  of  them  nominated  and 
elected  by  the  united  vote  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  then  count  me  no  prophet  if  non-church- 
goers and  heavy  tax-payers  do  not  rally  and  or- 
ganize, forming  an  opposing  force,  — call  it 
" Know-Nothingism  ” or  what  you  will,  — and 
rising  in  their  might  by  honest  votes,  outnumber- 
ing two  to  one  all  this  religio,  rum-soaked,  office- 
broker  horde  ; then  hurling  them  from  their  seats, 
rescue  the  honor  and  pride  of  Boston,  Venice  of 
the  Sea,  and  recall  among  her  emerald  isles  the 
halo  of  her  former  glory,  and  make  her  once  more 
the  centre  of  attraction,  the-  seat  of  purity  and 
virtue,  and  establish  her  again  the  pride  and  moral 
leader  of  an  admiring  continent. 


BOOK  III. 

KEY  AND  APPENDIX 

TO  “BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT.” 


Let  Catholics  Deny.  Junketing  at  City  Hall 
IN  1883. 


In  publishing  the  Key  to  ” Boston  Inside  Out,” 
I withhold  for  the  present  certain  facts,  names, 
and  dates  not  interestinsf  to  the  general  reader. 
I may  be  induced  to  publish  some  time  in  the 
distant  future  the  revolting  confession  in  detail 
concerning  the  terrible  crimes  of  Father  Titus, 
I may  give  the  year,  the  month,  the  day  of  the 
confession ; also,  when  the  suit  was  brought, 
and  by  whom  ; names  of  the  three  lawyers  en- 
gaged; how  the  $3,100  were  obtained  as  a com- 
promise; how  it  was  divided  ($300  to  the  three 
lawyers,  $300  to  Father  Titus’s  lawyer,  $2,500 
to  plaintiff  and  his  wife — $1,500  to  plaintiff 
alone,  $1,000  to  wife  — money  paid  in  ofEce  of 
Father  Titus’s  attorney  on  Washington  Street,  in 
presence  of  attorneys  on  both  sides)  ; how  $500 
was  used  immediately  by  plaintiff  for  his  family, 


2 


LET  CATHOLICS  DENY. 


1 1 ,000  placed  in  the  Provident  Savings  Bank  ; how 
the  wife’s  $1,000  was  held  by  one  of  the  attorneys  ; 
how  the  husband  became  enraged,  went  with  his 
wife  to  the  lawyer,  demanded  and  obtained  the 
money ; how  she  placed  part  of  it  in  the  same 
Provident  Savings  Bank  with  her  husband's  ; how 
she  lent  part  to  her  lawyer,  taking  his  note,  the 
husband  having  no  knowledge  to  this  day  that  the 
note  has  ever  been  paid.  These,  and  a hundred 
other  incidents,  I might  publish  now,  but  present 
litigations  may  reveal  these  facts  with  more  au- 
thority, under  solemn  oath,  than  I can  by  my 
unaided  assertion. 

If  the  lawyers  ^vish  their  names  published  in 
open  court,  if  the  victims  wish  the  notoriety  of  the 
scandal,  if  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  wishes  to 
blazon  to  the  world  the  name  and  title  of  the  rev- 
erend father,  with  his  alleged  crimes,  or  defend 
him  from  foul  aspersions,  they  have  but  to  furnish 
these  same  willing  lawyers  with  a little  money, 
and  the  work  is  done. 

I mi^rht  o^ive  the  real  name  of  Father  Titus,  his 
residence,  street,  and  number,  the  church  of  which 
he  was  pastor ; also  the  names  of  his  victims 
This  and  much  more  I might  publish,  but  rever- 
ence for  the  title  and  office  of  the  dead  priest,  and 
my  respect  and  hope  for  the  future  of  the  children 
of  the  living,  make  me  pause  and  await  the  issue. 


JUNKETING  AT  CITY  HALL. 


3 


When  those  beautiful  and  talented  children  were 
brought  tome  from  their  desolate  household,  when 
I was  asked  to  use  my  influence  to  secure  them 
homes,  my  heart  was  stirred  in  pity.  Ah  ! cruel 
be  the  hand  that  shall  smite  them  ! Cruel  be  the 
hoary  frost  that  shall  nip  these  buds  of  hope  and 
promise,  and  sear  their  early  bloom,  blasting  with 
scandal’s  mildew  their  pure,  sweet  faces  forever ! 

Catholic  Denials.  — Now  let  the  Catholics 
deny  if  they  will,  first,  that  Father  Titus  was  a 
real  person;  that  he  built  many  churches,  one 
great  cathedral,  and  was  a great  financier;  that  he 
raised  vast  sums  of  money  for  religious  objects 
which  never  went  into  church  coffers,  but  were 
used  for  wine,  women,  and  horses;  that  he  was 
criminally  intirnote  with  several  of  his  female  par- 
ishioners ; that  he  fell  down  dead  while  the  settle- 
ment of  the  above  scandal  suit  was  pending,  either 
by  his  own  hand  or  the  stroke  of  Providence. 

That  the  hero  of  this  book.  Father  Keenan,  one 
of  the  most  prominent  priests  in  the  diocese  and 
pastor  of  the  largest  church,  while  iiu'briated,  met 
his  death  by  falling  down-stairs  in  a house  of  as- 
signation. But  in  the  tale  of  fiction  I have  shown 
more  mercy  than  he  real  y deserved  I have  made 
him  heroically  striving  for  reform  for  the  sake  ot 
humanity's  cause,  and  to  give  tone  to  the  character 
and  make  a good  impression  upon  youthful  readers. 


4 


LET  CATHOLICS  DENY. 


That  another  priest  attached  to  a church  which 
has  been  for  years  a hotbed  of  priestly  lascivious- 
ness, Father  Titus  leading  off;  that  this  self- 
same priest  was  seen  intoxicated  on  the  street 
insulting  women,  and  was  locked  out  of  the  paro- 
chial residence  on  account  of  his  conduct ; that  he 
died  ill  a charity  hospital  from  dissipation,  women 
and  wine  caiisins:  his  ruin. 

That  a noted  ecclesiastic  of  Boston  o-oes  into  a 

O 

saloon,  and  after  taking  his  drink,  lays  down  his 
pocket-book  containing  a large  sum  of  money, 
makes  a wager  with  two  banco  steerers,  and  gets 
"left”  without  any  funds  to  carry  him  to  his  home. 

That  an  old  and  reputed  wealthy  shepherd  car- 
ried on  for  years  a gambling  Jiesta  at  his  house ; 
that  debauchery  was  there  in  its  worst  form,  the 
gambling  table,  brandy  bottle,  and  boxes  of 
cigars,  being  surrounded  nightly  by  the  knights 
of  the  black  robe ; that  unsophisticated  curate 
lambs  were  shorn  of  their  shekels  again  and 
again,  and  the  pious  "faithful  of  the  flock”  paying 
the  piper  all  the  time. 

That  twice  within  a year  priests  have  been 
locked  up  ill  the  same  station-hoU'e  for  riot  and 
drunkenness ; that  when  found  to  be  Catholic 
priests  they  were  liberated,  after  giving  fictitious 
names,  and  never  brought  to  trial. 

That  all  these  priests  are  from  Boston,  and 


JUNKETING  AT  CITY  HALL 


5 


dozens  more,  or  even  scores  of  criminal  eclesias- 
tics  of  less  prominence  can  be  named. 

That  Avhole  wards  of  a certain  charitable  insti- 
tution are  kept  for  depraved  Catholic  priests,  and 
Protestants  are  piteously  and  })olitely  called  upon 
to  help  enlarge  the  buildings  and  contribute 
liberally  for  the  su[)por^  of  these  dissipated, 
flockless,  wandering  shejflierds. 

'"Like  priest,  like  people”;  that  the  head  and 
front  of  all  Catholic  immorality  is  the  priesthood  ; 
that  horse-racing,  boat  clubs,  betting,  and  boxing 
are  largely  Catholic ; that  spending  papers  find 
Catholics  their  best  patrons ; that  the  average 
curate  scarcely  gets  through  with  his  morning 
prayers  before  he  catches  U[)  the  sporting  news 
to  see  who  won  at  the  last  race,  and  who  got 
knocked  out  at  the  last  prize  ring. 

That  sports,  pimps,  and  prostitutes  are  persis- 
tently entreated  by  the  beggar  sisterhood  to  give 
of  their  blood  money  to  the  charities  of  the 
Church,  on  pain  of  ostracism  or  purgatory ; that 
Sunday  amusements,  concerts,  balls,  races,  picnics, 
lotteries,  and  Sunday  liquor  selling,  all  are  laid 
under  contribution  for  the  '‘good  cause.”  "Give 
us  help  and  you  shall  be  secure  in  your  license 
from  Catholics  at  City  Hall ; if  you  don’t,  woe 
be  to  you  ! ” 

That  the  Catholics  have  control  of  politics  at 


6 


LET  CATHOLICS  DENY. 


City  Hall  ; that  new  offices  have  been  created, 
costing  thousands  upon  thousands,  to  supply  the 
hungry  horde  of  Irish  office-seekers  ; th  it  old  and 
trusted  officials  in  the  employ  of  the  city  for  yeai’s 
have  been  turned  out  to  give  positions  to  the  ward 
politicians  and  "heelers”  who  "helped”  in  the 
last  election. 

That  this  state  of  affairs  has  been  brought  about 
by  the  Catholic  political  bosses  and  wire-pullers 
of  the  Cathedral  parish ; that  right  under  the 
shadow  of  this  same  Cathedral  resides  the  " power 
behind  the  throne  ” in  Democratic  city  politics. 

That  the  appointment  of  assistant  assessors  is 
dictated  by  one  of  these  Catholic  bosses  of  the 
Cathedral  parish. 

That  these  self-same  assistant  assessors  use  their 
office  to  lovver  the  valuation  of  certain  property  in 
order  to  secure  votes. 

That  the  only  two  Catholic  newspapers  published 
in  Boston  — one  the  organ  of  the  archbishop  — 
devote  more  of  their  attention  to  sports  and 
politics  than  to  religion. 

That  the  cases  of  Catholic  prostitutes  and  other 
criminals  are  nol  pressed  or  placed  on  file  bj"  the 
hundred  every  year. 

That  the  district  attorne}^  elected  chiefly  by 
Catholic  votes,  with  the  aid  of  his  Catholic 
assistant,  is  for  the  most  part  to  blame  in  this 
matter. 


I 


JUNKETING  AT  CITY  HALL.  7 

That  a renegade  Republican,  under  the  plea  of 
charity,  can  make  a trade  with  a priest  for  the 
votes  of  his  Catholic  parishioners. 

That  an  apostate  from  Protestantism  can  join 
the  church,  become  a first-class  devotee,  curry 
favor  with  the  priests,  — and  all  to  secure  the 
Catholic  vote. 

That  the  school  board  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
Catholics.  That  a priest  can  at  any  time  secure 
the  appointment  of  a favorite  female  member  of 
his  sodality  as  teacher  in  our  public  schools. 

That  members  of  the  Catholic  faith  on  the 
school  board  outnumber  those  of  any  other 
denomination  almost  two  to  one. 

That  an  old  and  efficient  member  of  this  same 
school  board,  a Protestant  and  a practical  educa- 
tor, is  given  the  ”cold  shoulder,”  and  not  ap- 
pointed upon  a single  committee  because  he  repre- 
sented honesty,  economy,  and  reform. 

That  all  the  committees  of  the  board  have  from 
one  to  three  Catholics. 

That  under  Catholic  rule  this  year  large  appro- 
priations, jobs,  and  junketings  are  more  numerous 
than  ever. 

That  Catholic  hoodlum  politics  at  City  Hall 
have  cast  a stain  upon  the  fair  name  of  Boston 
which  time  alone  can  obliterate. 

That  in  fact  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  per- 


8 


LET  CATPIOLICS  DENT. 


meates  every  department  of  our  truly  remarkable 
city  government  with  the  sole  object  of  her  own 
aggrandizement  and  the  advancement  of  her  spir- 
itual and  temporal  interests. 

Tlnit  it  was  the  rogues’  gala  day  when  4he 
Catholics  got  possession  of  City  Hall ; when  the 
eagle  and  the  Stars  and  Stripes  were  metaphor- 
ically supplanted  by  the  Shamrock  and  the  Harp  ; 
when  our  Puritan  Sabbath  was  turned  into  a 
Catholic  Paris  Sunday,  making  Boston  a second 
Dublin  and  its  surroundings  a drunken  Ireland. 

Finally,  that  the  present  city  government,  in 
spirit,  at  least,  is  the  shield,  the  instigator, 
head  and  front  of  debauchery,  prize  - tights,  Sun- 
day amusements,  liquor  selling,  gambling,  and 
geneial  demoralization;  that  the  name  of  Boston, 
once  the  pride  of  civilization  the  world  over,  has 
become  a byword  and  reproach. 


APPENDIX.  — SECTION  II. 


CATHOLIC  POLITICS. CHURCH  SHOULDER  - HITTERS. 

FATHER  BODFISH’S  LECTURE,  ‘‘  WHY  I BECAME  A CATH- 
OLIC.” 

Piety,  prize-fighting,  and  politics  seem  wofully 
mixed  up.  City  Hall  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Cath- 
olics. The  chairman  of  the  Board  of  Aldermen  is 
a Catholic;  the  chairman  of  the  Common  Council 
is  a Catholic.  They  manage  appropriations  and 
license  shoulder-hitters.  The  Mayor  strove  to 
limit  their  junketings,  but  failed ; strove  to  pre- 
vent the  exhibition  of  the  manly  art  of  nose-smash- 
ing, and  again  failed.  The  Catholic  bosses  brook 
no  dictation. 

They  demand  exclusive  Catholic  teachings  at 
the  public  expense.  Now,  what  are  those  teach- 
ings, pugilistic  or  ritualistic,  or  both ! I give 
the  following  from  the  Boston  Post^  Feb.  24, 
1883:  — 

Prize  Fight  ix  Bostox.  — One  of  the  most  desperate 
prize  fights  that  has  ever  occurred  in  this  city  took  place 
on  Friday  evening  at  the  Crib  Club,  on  Avery  Street.  The 
principals  were  George  Godfrey,  of  Boston,  and  Frank 
Hadley,  of  New  York,  both  colored.  The  fight  was  for  a 
purse  of  $100.  Godfrey  won  on  the  sixth  round.  Both 
men  were  severely  injured  in  the  disgraceful  contest  with 


X 


KEY  AND  APPENDIX 


their  fists,  and,  when  it  was  ended,'showed  abundant  evi- 
dence of  what  they  chose  to  call  a “ terrible  punishment.” 
John  L.  Sullivan,  the  so-called  “ champion,”  olficiated  as 
referee,  and  John  Boyle  O’Beilly,  Esq.,  of  this  city, acted 
as  timekeeper.  A large  number  of  so-called  sporting  men 
were  present  from  various  parts  of  the  country,  and  a 
large  amount  of  money  changed  hands  on  the  result.  The 
police  probably  did  not  hear  of  the  affair. 

Now,  John  Boyle  O’Reilly,  Esq.,  editor  of  the 
Filot^  is  president  of  this  same  Crib  Club.  The 
Vilot  is  the  Archbishop’s  organ,  and  John  Boyle 
O’Reilly,  an  escaped  Fenian  from  Botany  Bay,  his 
mouth-piece  and  chief  editor.  I never  saw  the 
gentleman,  but  learn  he  is  a genial  man,  poetic, 
literary,  and  a dashing  man  of  the  world.  So 
much  the  worse  for  religion.  This  club,  this 
company  of  shoulder-hitters,  gave  the  grand 
testimonial  benefit  to  the  champion  shoulder- hit- 
ter of  the  world.  A Catholic  councilman  secured 
the  license,  himself  a shoulder-hitter.  The  papers 
stated  he  was  to  receive  five  hundred  dollars  for 
getting  the  license  through.  He  did  n’t  get  it ; 
the  beneficiary  went  back  on  him. 

Now,  I ask,  in  the  face  of  all  this  pugilism, 
together  with  gambling,  drinking,  pauperism,  lot- 
teries, and  priestly  criminalities,  all  in  the  name  of 
religion,  how  long  will  the  American  people  sub- 
mit ? Especially  when  three  quarters  of  the  people 
have  no  interest  in  the  Church  whatever  I A 


TO  BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT. 


XI 


majority  think  it  a burden,  a detriment,  and  a 
curse  to  the  State. 

Yet  Father  Joshua  Peter  Bodfish,  of  the  Cathe- 
dral, chief  meddler  in  the  Public  Lil)rary  and  public 
schools,  champion  of  anti-divorce,  and  within  a 
stone’s  throw  of  whose  church  reside  the  Catholic 
bosses  that  rule  State  and  city  politics,  had  the 
effrontery  to  come  up  to  the  Legislature  and  ask 
for  exclusive  Catholic  teachings  in  public  institu- 
tions ! Catholics  were  allowed  nearly  an  hour 
each  to  present  their  case ; Protestants  only  ten 
minutes  to  remonstrate. 

" No  you  don’t ! Gentlemen,  these  remonstrants 
are  here  by  my  invitation,”  I said  to  the  com- 
mittee. "I  am  not  to  be  limited  to  ten  minutes.  I 
speak  to  the  committee  of  the  whole.  My  address 
will  be  given  in  pamphlet  form  to  the  Legislature 
this  afternoon.”  So  I took  my  hat  and  le.ft.  Pev. 
A.  J.  Patterson  and  others  occupied  the  little 
time  remaining.  The  room  Was  uncomfortably 
crowded,  and  an  adjournment  to  a larger  room 
became  necessary.  A bill  for  exclusive  Catholic 
teachings  was  reported  by  this  subservient  com- 
mittee, but  it  was  defeated  in  the  House,  50  to  91. 

Now,  this  same  Father  Bodfish  lectured  in  aid 
of  the  parochial  school  at  Cambridgeport,  Father 
Scully  presiding.  His  sul)ject  w^as,  " Why  I be- 
came a Catholic.”  He  might  have  called  it,  ” The 
Burial  of  the  Sects.” 


Xll 


KEY  AND  APPENDIX 


Father  Bodfish  commenced  hy  stating  that  he 
came  of  Puritan  stock,  his  ancestors  having  landed 
from  the  " Mayflower  ” on  Plymouth  Rock.  Ilis 
parents  were  Baptists  ; he  had  been  Ijorn  and  bred 
in  that  faith.  He,  however,  found  no  comfort  or 
solace  in  that  denomination ; had  embraced  other 
religions,  but  could  nowhere  find  rest  until  he 
entered  the  one  .true  fold,  — the  Holy  Catholic 
Church. 

He  then  went  on  to  attack  Protestantism,  say- 
ing, as  near  as  we  can  report  it,  he  declining  to 
give  it  to  the  reporters,  that  "the  sects  outside  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  are  as  numerous  as  the 
stars  of  heaven,  the  sands  on  the  sea-shore,  or 
the  hairs  on  your  head.” 

Taking  from  the  table  before  him  a roll  of  paper 
four  or  five  feet  in  length  (long  as  a coffin),  he 
proceeded  to  read  the  names  of  the  sects  passing 
into  oblivion,  with  a rhyming  accompaniment. 

" There  are  the  Deists  and  the  Theists,  the 
Trinitarians  and  the  Unitarians,  the  Tunkers  and 
the  Dunkards,  the  Shakers  and  the  Quakers,  the 
Canters  and  the  Ranters,  and  then  come  the  Bap- 
tists, Hard-Shell  Baptists,  Soft-Shell  Baptists,  and 
Baptists  with  no  shell  at  all.” 

Every  now  and  then  the  reverend  lecturer 
stopped  to  take  breath,  as  he  named  these  various 
sects.  This  action  was  sure  to  bring  down  the 


TO  BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT. 


Xlll 


house.  The  number  seemed  treater  than  his  lun^s 
and  heart  could  bear ; at  last  he  hurled  the  roll 
from  him  in  sheer  desperation,  saying  he  could 
not  enumerate  any  further.  The  poor  man,  though 
in  pretty  healthy  condition,  appeared  utterly  ex- 
hausted. Then  came  the  interment  of  the  sects 
on  the  scroll. 

Glorious  was  the  pageantry  of  the  obsequies  I 
Father  Scully,  robed  in  a cassock,  came  to  one  end 
of  the  coffin  of  the  sects,  Father  Bodfish  seizing  the 
other  end  of  the  scroll  as  it  lay  upon  the  platform, 
they  proceeded  to  bear  the  remains  from  public 
gaze  amidst  tumultuous  applause  and  peals  of  de- 
rision and  laughter. 

Alas  for  me  ! with  all  my  reverence  for  those 
holy  rites  of  sepulture,  that  final  interment  of  my 
favorite  sect  and  creed,  I must  call  the  procession 
to  a halt!  I say,  Stop  the  funeral!'^  Why? 
Because  the  hearses  are  not  all  in  ! 

The  Catholic  catafalque  has  been  forgotten.  Let 
me  tell  Mr.  Bodfish  and  his  confreres  that  if  all 
these  sects  go  down,  the  Koman  Catholic  Church 
goes  with  them  just  as  sure  as  the  sun  rises  and 
sets ! The  black  night  of  infidelity  will  then 
reign.  The  non-church -going  public  will  prefer 
Darwinism,  Tyndallism,  Spencerism,  Spiritualism, 
Scepticism,  in  fact  any  ism  except  unpurged 
Catholicism. 


APPENDIX.  — SECTION  III. 


CELIBACY  OF  THE  ROMAN  CATHOLIC  CLERGY.  — LICENTIOUS- 
NESS ITS  FRUIT. CONFESSION  OF  PRIEST  RIEMBAUER. 

I QUOTE  from  Rev.  C.  Sparry’s  book,  "Protestant 
Animal,”  pages  from  211  to  216  : Are  we  coming 
to  this  in  free  America  ? I confess  that  signs*  are 
somewhat  dark  and  forbidding. 

Celibacy  of  the  clergy  of  the  Catholic  Church 
owes  its  origin  to  Pope  Gregory  VII.  There  is  no 
authority  for  the  prohibition  of  the  marriage  of 
priests  in  the  Word  of  God.  Neither  under  the 
Jewish  law  were  prophets,  princes,  or  priests  for- 
bidden to  marry.  This  custom  has  been  the  cause 
of  all  the  licentiousness  and  impurity  in  the  Church 
from  the  earliest  ages  down  to  the  present  time. 
Human  nature  is  the  same  in  all  ages.  It  never 
changes.  When  a class  of  men  are  secluded  from 
the  companionship  of  women  by  a mandate,  licen- 
tiousness and  a laxity  of  morals  must  be  the  result. 

The  history  of  the  crimes  of  the  priesthood, 
according  to  the  authority  of  eminent  writers  in  the 
Church,  is  a series  of  multiplied  abominations. 

Agrippa,  the  historian,  accuses  the  bishops  of 
taxing  the  inferior  clergy  for  liberty  to  violate  the 


KEY  AND  APPENDIX  TO  BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT.  XV 


laws  of  chastity.  "One  bishop,”  says  he,  "on  one 
occasion,  boasted  of  having  in  his  diocese  11,000 
priests  who  paid  their  superior  every  year  a guinea 
for  leave  to  keep  a concubine.”  A\"e  are  told 
licenses  of  this  kind  were  common  in  many  Eu- 
ropean kingdoms. 

Clemangis  declared  the  adultery  and  impurity 
of  the  clergy  beyond  all  description,  lie  says : 
"They  frequent  stews  and  taverns,  and  spend  their 
whole  tiiqe  in  eating,  drinking,  rioting,  gaming, 
and  dancing.  Surfeited  and  drunk,  these  sacer- 
dotal sensualists  fought,  shouted,  rioted,  and 
blasphemed  ; and  passed  directly  from  the  embrace 
of  the  harlot  to  the  altar  of  God.” 

Alvares,  a Spanish  author,  asserts  that  " the 
sons  of  the  Spanish  clergy  were  as  numerous  as 
those  of  the  laity.”  "They  will  pass,”  says  he, 
"without  confession,  from  their  concubines  to  God’s 
altar.” 

The  German  clergy  were  as  bad  as  the  Spanish. 
Some  are  charged  with  living  in  open  concubinage  ; 
others  of  committing"  incest ; and,  accordins:  to  the 
expressive  language  of  a German  council,  " wal- 
lowing in  sensuality  ; plunging,  with  slackened  rein, 
into  the  lake  of  misery  and  mire  of  filthiness.” 

Albert,  Duke  of  Bavaria,  depicted  the  infamy  of 
the  German  priesthood  in  glowing  colors.  " The 
recital,”  says  he,  " of  clerical  criminality  would 


XVI 


KEY  AND  APPENDIX 


wound  the  ear  of  chastity.  Debauchery  has  covered 
the  ecclesiastics  with  infamy.” 

Switzerland  was  also  the  scene  of  similar  prof- 
ligacy. It  rose  to  such  a height  prior  to  the 
Reformation,  that  the  Swiss  laity  compelled  every 
priest  to  take  a concubine  of  his  own,  in  order  to 
preserve  the  safety  of  others.  Clemangis  also  nar- 
rates that  the  laity  would  tolerate  the  clergy  only 
on  condition  of  their  keeping  concubines. 

The  French  clergy  were  by  no  meaUs  behind 
those  of  other  countries  in  this  disgraceful  career. 
According  to  the  account  of  Mezerey,  an  eminent 
historian,  all  the  French  ecclesiastics  were  in  a sad 
state  of  irregularity.  The  majority  had  concu- 
bines, while  some  of  the  deacons  had  four  or  five 
female  companions. 

The  Italian  and  Roman  clergy  surpassed  all 
others  in  infamy.  A select  council  of  cardinals 
and  bishops,  assembled  by  Pope  Paul  III.,  have 
drawn  a picture  of  the  morals  of  the  Roman  clergy 
which  is  absolutely  frightful.  Amours  were  car- 
ried on  in  open  day,  and  with  most  unblushing 
effrontery.  Popes,  too,  were  as  badly  implicated 
as  the  clergy.  Some  of  the  hierarclis  licensed 
houses  of  ill-fame,  and  gathered  large  taxes  from 
this  source.  John,  Bonifiice,  Sextus,  Alexander, 
Julius,  Leo,  and  other  popes  were  notoriously 
guilty  of  adultery  and  incest.  A Roman  council 


TO  BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT. 


XVll 


convicted  Pope  John  XII.  of  adultery  and  incest 
with  two  of  his  sisters.  John  XXII.  was  also 
guilty  of  a like  crime.  So  profligate  were  the 
clergy,  that  the  meeting  of  a council  in  a city  was 
enough  to  demoralize  it.  At  a general  council  in 
Lyons,  a Cardinal  Iloge,  in  a speech  to  the  citi- 
zens, immediately  after  the  dissolution  of  the 
sacred  synod,  alleged  that,  by  the  perpetration  of 
licentiousness,  the  city  had  been  converted  into 
one  vast  fermenting,  overflowing  sink  of  pollution. 
At  the  general  council  of  Constance,  it  was  quite 
as  bad.  It  is  said  that  the  number  of  females  of 
bad  character  in  attendance  was  not  less  than 
fifteen  hundred. 

These  are  but  specimens  of  the  deliberate  asser- 
tions of  the  most  authentic  historians  of  the 
Church.  And  what  a horrible,  disgusting  picture 
do  they  present  of  the  fruits  of  the  celibacy  of  the 
clergy  ! Human  depravity  never  had  a worse  de- 
velopment, if  these  accounts  are  to  be  believed,  — 
and  believed  they  must  be  if  any  credit  is  ever  to 
be  put  in  any  history.  And  what  this  practice  has 
done  once  it  will  do  again.  The  grosser  and  more 
open  manifestations  of  crime,  of  course,  are  [>re- 
vented  by  the  civilization  of  the  age  ; but  to  deny 
that  the  same  cause  will  produce  the  same  effect, 
would  be  to  deny  that  human  passions  still  exist, 
and  that  the  depravity  of  the  heart  is  more  intense 


XVlll 


KEY  AND  APPENDIX 


in  one  age  than  another.  Celibacy  has  ever  been 
the  source  of  impurity  and  licentiousness.  It  is 
so  now.  There  are  evidences  in  our  possession 
which  will  show  that  the  Romish  priesthood,  since 
the  Reformation,  — nay,  in  our  own  country,  — 
are  deeply  implicated  in  the  crime,  so  deeply  as  to 
proclaim,  in  tones  that  should  reach  every  parent’s 
heart,  that,  so  long  as  it  forms  a feature  of  Catholic 
policy,  the  priestliood  are  never  to  be  trusted. 

Confession  of  Ppjest  Riembauer,  one  of 
THE  Twelve  Apostles  of  Guilt.  — The  follow- 
ing extracts  are  from  the  " Confession  of  the  Rev. 
F.  Riembauer,  a Roman  Catholic  priest,  who  was 
convicted  of  the  murder  of  Anna  Eichstaedter.” 
We  copy  from  the  Investigator ^ edited  by  J.  F. 
Polk,  brother  of  the  President  of  the  United 
States : — 

" The  letters  that  I received  from  Anna  Eich- 
staedter filled  me  with  terror.  Unless  I would 
provide  for  the  child,  and  receive  her  into  my 
house,  she  threatened  to  denounce  me  to  my  eccle- 
siastical superiors.  The  result  of  my  visit  to  her 
at  Ratisbon  increased  my  alarm.  1 explained  to 
her  my  pecuniary  embarrassments,  and  the  impos- 
sibility of  my  receiving  her;  but  she  would  listen 
to  no  excuses,  and  would  be  convinced  by  no  argu- 
ments. My  honor  ( I),  my  position,  my  powers 


TO  BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT. 


XIX 


of  being  useful,  all  that  I value  in  the  world,  were 
at  stake.  I often  reflected  on  the  principle  laid 
down  by  iny  old  tutor.  Father  Benedict  Sattlcr,  in 
his  'Ethica  Christiana’  (a  principle  which  he  often 
explained  to  his  young  clerical  pupils),  * That  it  is 
lawful  to  deprive  another  of  life,  if  that  he  the  only 
means  of  preserving  one's  own  honor  and  reputa^ 
tion,^ 

”Two  days  afterward  I buried  her;  and  as  the 
hands  had  stiffened  in  an  attitude  of  entreaty, 
they  rose  above  the  grave  and  I was  forced  to  re- 
move them.  I have  nothing  more  to  relate,  except 
that  I have  frequently  said  masses  for  her  soul,  and 
that  her  death  has  always  been  a source  of  grief 
to  me,  though  the  motives  which  led  me  to  effect  it 
were  praiseworthy.  The<e  motives  — my  only 
motives  — were  to  save  the  credit  of  my  honorable 
profession,  and  to  prevent  the  many  evils  and  crimes 
which  a scandalous  exposure  must  have  occasioned. 
Had  I not  stood  so  high  with  my  people,  I would 
have  submitted  to  that  exposure.  But  if  the  faults 
of  a priest,  revered  as  I was,  had  been  revealed, 
many  men  would  have  thought  that  my  example 
justified  their  sins,  others  would  have  lost  confi- 
dence in  their  clergy,  and  some,  perhaps,  miiilit 
have  thought  religion  a fable.  As  these  calamities 
could  be  prevented  only  by  the  getting  rid  of  Anna 


XX 


KEr  AND  APPENDIX. 


Eichstjiedter,  I was  forced  to  get  rid  of  her.  The 
end  was  good, — her  death  was  the  only  means. 
Therefore,  I cannot  believe  that  it  was  a 

CRIME. 

” My  failings  (so  far  as  they  were  failings)  were 
the  incidents  of  my  position.  They  were  the  fail- 
ings of  celibacy.  They  never  disturbed  my  con- 
science; for  I could  defend  them,  both  by  reasoning 
and  by  examples  taken  from  ecclesiastical  history  ; 
and  I think  that  I deserve  credit  for  havinof  so 
managed  my  conduct  as  to  give  no  public  ofence. 

In  one  of  his  examinations,  he  said  : "I  thought 
upon  the  remark  of  St.  Clement,  of  Alexandria, 
that  '"man  is  never  so  obviously  the  image  of  God 
as  when  he  assists  God  in  the  creation  of  a human 
being  P To  do  so  cannot  be  against  the  will  of 
God,  since  thereby  the  number  of  the  elect  may 
be  increased;  nor  against  the  will  of  the  Church, 
since  it  adds  one  to  the  number  of  her  communion  ; 
nor  against  that  of  the  State,  which  gains  a citizen. 
My  conscience,  therefore,  gave  me  no  uneasiness.^’ 

Such  abominable  principles  need  no  comment. 
Five  years  ago  I could  not  have  believed  the 
priesthood  guilty  of  such  gross  acts  of  immorality. 
Before  I commenced  to  probe  Boston,  nothing 
from  Protestant  lips  would  have  convinced  me  of 
the  profligacy  of  the  Roman  Catholic  priesthood 


TO  BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT. 


XXI 


of  New  En"la;:'<3.  I had  looked  only  on  the 
surface,  — never  ci:‘eanit  that  Catholic  lips  would 
disclose  so  much. 

When  I began  to  fathom  Boston’s  iniquity,  its 
crimes,  its  drinking,  its  licentiousness,  hiring 
agents  to  obtain  the  facts  at  n cost  of  several 
thousand  dollars ; when  I saw  whole  streets  given 
up  to  brothels,  respectable  and  wealthy  citizens 
driven  out  and  leaving  the  city ; saw  gathering 
round  my  own  church  by  the  acre  houses  of 
assignation,  infant  slaughter-houses,  and  dens  ot 
every  abomination ; saw  under  the  very  eaves  of 
the  church,  within  ten  feet  of  my  dwelling,  streams 
of  men  and  women,  day  and  night,  pouring  in  and 
out  of  dens  of  shame ; when  I saw  that  three 
fourths  of  the  females  in  the  dance-halls  and 
houses  of  ill -fame  .were  Catholics,  most  of  them 
still  abstaining  from  meat  on  Fridays,  wearing 
faithfully  the  medal  of  the  Virgin,  scapulars,  and 
Agnus  Deis ; when  I learned  that  priests  of  the 
highest  reputation,  having  upon  them  the  vow  of 
perpetual  chastity,  were  breaking  that  vow  con- 
tinually, invading  homes  while  husbands  were 
away,  inveigling  women,  both  married  and  single, 
into  private  rooms  of  questionable  hotels  kept  by 
Irish  landlords ; when  loud  anathemas  were  hurled 
against  Protestant  divorce  laws  while  priestly 
concubinage  was  indulged  in  by  the  wholesale,  — 


xxil 


KEY  AND  APPENDIX 


when  I saw  all  this,  1 said,  "Surely  the  Roman 
Catholic  hierarchy  is  responsible  for  some  at  least 
of  the  sins  in  Boston.  Better  raze  every  church 
to  the  ground,  banish  every  priest,  than  have 
such  outrageous  pi-rhdy  continue  m the  holy  name 
of  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ. 

Here  is  another  apostle  of  guilt,  — a prominent 
priest  in  charge  of  a large  and  influential  parish 
in  the  suburbs  of  Boston.  What  carries  him  so 
often  to  the  house  of  a certain  fair  communicant, 
— a married  woman?  Ask  the  deceived  husband  ! 
What  did  he  witness  on  entering  his  house  at  an 
unex[)eeted  hour?  What  mean  those  cries,  those 
wild  appeals  for  mercy  and  forgiveness?  What 
crash  was  that  ? Ah  ! the  holy  father  makes  a 
misstep,  falls  from  a second-story  window,  breaks 
his  leg,  and,  alas ! limps  through  life  to  this 
day. 

Still  another,  from  the  city  of  spindles.  But  I 
pass  over  the  disgusting  details;  let  it  suffice  to 
say  that  a Protestant  physician  of  Boston  holds 
the  proofs  of  one  of  the  most  beastly  cases  of 
priestly  immorality  conceivable.  The  patient  dared 
not  consult  a doctor  of  the  Catholic  faith  : the  story 
might  leak  out. 

From  Waltham  comes  a doubting  parishioner 
on  the  track  of  his  loved  and  honored  shepherd. 
Ho  follows  him  to  Boston,  strong  in  the  convic- 


TO  BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT. 


xxiii 


tion  that  the  good  father  has  been  traduced.  He 
appoints  himself  a committee  of  one  to  investigate. 
1 1 is  investigations  lead  into  strange  neighborhoods. 
Houses  whose  inmates  seemed  to  shun  the  light  of 
day  o[)ened  their  closely  guarded  portals  to  the 
” open  sesame  ” of  the  priest.  What  did  it  mean? 
Further  tracking  made  assurance  doubly  sure. 
The  character  of  the  various  houses  visited  repeat- 
edly by  Father were  all  of  the  same  type,  — 

houses  of  sin  and  shame.  The  inference  was 
plain.  The  priest  was  a false  shepherd,  — a wolf 
in  sheep’s  clothing. 

Here  is  a priest  near  to  the  bishop  charged  with 
unmentionable  crimes.  What  is  done?  Why,  he 
retires  for  a short  time,  then  leaps  to  a first-class 
position.  Here  is  one,  head  of  an  institution, 
addicted  to  the  same  unmentionable  crime.  The 
altar  boys  of  those  days  are  now  grown  up,  and 
they  laugh  and  sneer  at  the  so-called  celibacy  of 
the  Homan  Catholic  clergy.  Their  faith  is  forever 
gone. 

Many  wonder  where  went  the  half-million  lost 
at  Lawrence.  They  say,  ” Bad  investments  ” ; and 
many  of  them  were  bad.  Investments  in  feminine 
luxuries.  Here  is  one  : — 

” Mike,  have  you  a wife?  ” 

” No,  Father ; I can’t  afford  to  marry : I am  just 
over,  an’  have  no  job,  sir,” 


XXIV 


KEY  AND  APPENDIX. 


" Oh,  yes,  you  can ; I will  see  that  you  have  a 
job  and  a home.’^ 

He  married  ; he  got  the  job  and  the  home  ; and 
in  taking  his  wife  to  his  bosom  he  got  something 
he  did  not  bargain  for.  Now  that  money  came 
from  Lawrence,  and  was  distributed  in  Boston. 

No  wonder  that  Catholics  stand  up  for  me,  help 
me,  .‘md  pray  for  me  to  succeed  in  awaking  the 
church  to  its  duty.  They  say,  ” Give  us  trustees, 
like  other  sects  and  other  corporations.  Let  us 
have  a voice  in  the  church ; let  us  have  reform. 
Success  to  Brother  Morgan  and  his  noble  cause  ! ” 

The  church  has  an  e\^e  to  public  demands  ; there- 
fore I take  hope.  I look  for  the  grandest  refor- 
mation ever  known  upon  this  continent.  Sects 
will  vie  with  each  other  in  holy  ardor  to  save  the 
lost.  The  Roman  Catholic  Church  will  leap  to 
the  front.  Its  zeal  that  awakes  its  devotees  before 
the  morning  dawn  ; its  faith  that  laughs  at  scepti- 
scism  and  seeming  impossibilities ; its  devotion 
that  is  akin  to  martyrdom  ; its  sacrifices  that  are 
simply  Christ-like  and  God-like ; its  missionaries 
that  build  the  costliest  temples,  plant  the  grand- 
est institutions,  penetrate  the  wilderness,  traverse 
oceans,  circle  the  habitable  globe  for  converts,  — 
these  wdl  yet  inure  to  the  glory  of  the  American 
people,  and  make  it  foremost  among  the  nations 
of  the  earth. 


MORGAN’S  “FALLEN  PRIEST” 


From  “The  'Watchman.” 

Rev.  Henry  Morgan’s  “ Fallen  Priest,”  key  and 
sequel  to  “ Boston  Inside  Out,”  three  books  in  one 
volume,  is  now  complete  in  forty  chapters,  with  “ Cath- 
olic Church  iu  Politics”  and  appendix  added.  Few 
stories  ever  published  so  graphically  portray  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  in  all  its  bearings,  socially,  politically, 
religiously,  as  the  story  of  “ Father  Keenan,  the  Fallen 
Priest.”  Founded  on  fact  in  the  city  of  Boston,  acting 
under  the  eye  of  the  author  for  twenty-five  years,  “ Fa- 
ther Keenan  ” is  the  embodiment  of  all  that  is  good  and 
bad  in  the  Church  hierarchy.  The  vice  and  crime  at- 
tendant upon  the  Church  in  all  large  cities  ; the  tempta- 
tions of  celibacy ; the  religious  devotion  and  zeal  of 
thieves  and  robbers  ; their  swagger  and  brutal  fights  for 
the  “honor”  of  the  Church;  the  struggle  and  tragic 
death  of  the  noted  tramp,  Mike  Hale}’,  for  the  “ old 
faith  ” ; the  Irish  wake  at  Mag  O’Leary’s  ; Father  Kee- 
nan’s ministrations  in  his  low  estate  ; Sam  Skillins’s  in- 
trigue against  Mary  Mulligan,  and  her  terrible  fate  ; Kate 
Ransom’s  escape  from  the  convent ; her  protest  to 
Father  Leonard  against  parish  schools  ; Father  Keenan 
in  the  height  of  his  fame  and  glory,  then  in  his  abject 
fall ; how  he  won  the  “ Belle  of  Beacon  Hill  ” to  the 


Church  ; how  she  died  heart-broken  when  she  discovered 
his  true  character ; how  Marie  McShea  became  infatu- 
ated with  the  priest ; how  she  upbraided  him  in  the 
great  congregation  ; how  his  reputation  declined  from 
that  eventful  moment ; the  plot  of  Sam  Skillins  which 
finally  caused  the  priest  to  be  silenced  ; his  vain  en- 
deavor to  reform  and  become  reinstated  in  the  priest- 
hood ; his  lower  descent  to  the  lock-up  and  the  brothel ; 
his  last  effort  to  reform  ; his  mission  among  the  poor, 
the  outcast  and  forsaken  ; the  midnight  assault,  which 
at  last  caused  his  death  ; the  heroic,  self-sacrificing  devo- 
tion of  the  object  of  his  first  love,  Marie  McShea,  leav- 
ing the  convent  to  minister  to  his  dying  wants ; the 
vision  of  her  hooded  features  appearing  over  his  mid- 
night pillow,  more  beautiful  to  him  than  the  “ Mother 
of  God”  herself ; the  parting  of  those  two  lovers,  hand 
in  hand,  on  the  borders  of  the  spirit  world,  hearts  united 
as  one  from  early  youth  in  indissoluble  ties,  j’et  forbid- 
den to  many  ; the  moral  of  the  story,  “Does  the  Ro- 
man Church  in  its  present  state  elevate  or  degrade?” 
— all  these,  and  much  more,  make  this  one  of  the  most 
attractive  books  of  the  season,  and  perhaps  of  the  age. 
If  “Boston  Inside  Out”  has  reached  its  twenty-fifth 
edition,  then  its  key  and  sequel,  the  “ Fallen  Priest,” 
will  probably  reach  twice  that  number.  Superbl}"  bound, 
five  hundred  and  thirty-four  pages,  gilt  cover  and  back. 
Retail  price,  SI. 50;  to  agents,  half  price.  Agents, 
send  $1.00  for  sample  copy  b}^  mail. 

Address : Rev.  Henry  Morgan,  81  Shawmut  Av- 
enue, Boston,  Mass. 


PRESS  NOTICES. 


\_From  the  Chelsea,  Mass,^  Becord."] 

We  had  heard  of  Kev.  Henry  Morgan’s  books  pre- 
viously, but  have  not  seen  them  until  now.  That  tliey 
should  have  made  a sensation  is  not  at  all  strange,  for 
they  are  as  chock  full  of  incident  as  a good  egg  is  full  of 
meat.  We  can  see  at  a mere  glance  that  these  books  are 
important  factors  in  rebuking  evil  and  commending  good. 
The  author  seems  to  have  a way  of  “ putting  things  ” in 
pretty  positive  colors,  and  there  is  no  misunderstatiding 
his  intention  and  meaning.  He  certainly  digs  to  the  very 
roots  of  his  subjects.  He  is  by  some  people  deemed 
“ eccentric,”  and  that  may  be  so,  for  everybody  is  eccen- 
tric to  somebody,  and  we  wouldn’t  give  a cent  for  a 
genius  that  manifests  no  eccentricity.  Mr.  Morgan  is 
evidently  a host  within  himself,  and  his  books  reveal  him 
in  his  many-sided  phases.  As  a friend  of  the  poor,  as  a 
preacher  and  lecturer,  and  as  an  author,  he  has  certainly 
proved  himself  one  of  the  few  men  who  make  their  dis- 
tinctive marks  while  passing  through  this  wicked  world. 
For  quaint  and  lively  literature  we  commend  Mr.  Morgan’s 
books. 


[Erom  the  Woodbury , Conn.,  Beporter.'] 

Some  years  ago  Eev.  Henry  Morgan,  of  Boston,  pub- 
lished a book  entitled  “ Boston  Inside  Out,”  which  con- 
tained startling  disclosures  and  created  intense  excitement, 
especially  among  the  Catholics.  Mr.  Morgan  is  a regular 
modern  Paul,  and  the  way  he  handles  his  subject  in  this 
book  commands  the  admiration  of  all  lovers  of  moral 
reform.  May  such  men  as  Morgan  continue  to  increase  I 


[^From  the  Philadelphia  National  Baptisf^ 

Eev.  Henry  IMorgan  gives  in  these  pages  a lurid  pic- 
ture of  the  dark  side  of  Boston  life  and  government,  and 
presents  it  with  a vigor  and  plainness  that  cannot  he  mis- 
understood. The  startling  facts  he  presents  cannot  and 
ought  not  to  be  hid  from  public  view.  It  is  only  by  a 
proper  realization  of  them  that  good  citizens  can  meet 
their  duties  and  destroy  that  which  if  not  destroyed  will 
destroy  them.  The  power  of  rum,  Romanism,  and  cor- 
rupt legislation  is  here  laid  bare,  and  the  dangers  to  which 
they  expose  society.  We  are  glad  that  such  men  as  Henry 
Morgan  are  willing  to  prosecute  these  researches  without 
fear  or  favor.  They  are  among  the  greatest  benefactors 
to  the  community,  although  their  labors  are  often  too 
little  esteemed.  The  present  volume  is  certain  to  gain  a 
large  class  of  readers;  and  we  are  safe  to  say  that  the 
stimulus  of  the  book  is  in  its  facts,  and  not  in  its  fancies. 

\^From  the  Boston  Zion’s  Herald.'] 

Rev.  Henry  Morgan  keeps  certain  circles  in  Boston 
from  becoming  stagnant  by  an  incessant  stirring  of  them 
up.  Not  satisfied  with  turning  Boston  “ Inside  Out,”  he 
insists  in  a “ Key  and  Appendix,”  upon  calling  openly,  — 
in  quite  a disagreeable  way  to  the  persons  concerned,  — 
their  well-known  names.  It  is  very  certain  that  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  in  this  city  will  offer  no  prayers 
for  the  repose  of  his  soul  when  Mr.  Morgan  finally  ceases 
at  once  to  live  and  to  disturb  its  peace. 

[From  the  New  Bedford  Bepuhlican  Standard.] 

This  is  a book  which  is  being  read  by  hundreds  and 
thousands,  and  the  sins  and  iniquities  of  Boston  are  de- 
picted and  laid  bare  with  ungloved  hands  by  the  intrepid 
author.  The  book  deals  in  facts,  every  one  of  which  Mr. 
Morgan  stands  ready  to  back  up.  He  believes  in  calling 
white  white  and  black  black,  and  hesitates  nalt  to  expose 
the  corruptions  of  Boston,  whether  clothed  in  rags  or 
broadcloth. 


PUBLISHED  BY 


Eev.  HEITEY  MOESAIT 

(^■u.tlior  and.  :E=’-a.’blisla.er), 

81  Shawmut  Avenue, 

BOSTOisr,  ovn^ss. 


Boston  Inside  Ont, 

25th  thousand,  revised  and  enlarged.  552 
pages.  Giit  cover  and  back.  Steel  portrait  of 
the  author.  Cheapest  and  fastest  selling  book 
in  America. 


Isf  8M  Seiisl  t9  Bostoa  hsi^s  M. 

534  pages.  Second  edition,  with  eight  new 
chapters  added.  Three  books  in  one.  Gilt 
cover  and  back.  Author  sued  by  the  Catholics 
for  $25,000  for  calling  names  in  the  advance 
sheets.  Startling  disclosures  concerning  the 
Church.  Intense  excitement  in  Catholic  circles. 


SHADOWY  HAND;  Or,  LiFE  STRUGGLES. 

CHis  ovrix  Experience. > 

470  pages.  Illustrated.  The  record  of  a busy 
life.  Lectures  and  Anecdot.  s. 


Ned  Neviiis,  tlie  Newsboy. 

35th  edition.  460  pages.  Illustrates  Street 
Life  in  Boston.  One  of  the  most  successful 
juveniles  e4’*er  issued.  A book  with  a moral  to 
it,  and  which  children  can  read  with  safety. 


Retail  price  of  Uiese  Hooks,  $1.50. 


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BOSTON  COLLEGE 


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Bapst  Library 

Boston  College 
Chestnut  Hill,  Mass.  02167 


